Sitting by the Lake. A Pine Cone Falls.

I was sitting out by the Lake-Pond just now. Writing about this and that, moments as they rippled through my Mind. Trying to catch them on paper, like herding dust mites. As I sat there, engaged in a process I relinquish to point and parcel, a pine cone dropped from a Poplar tree, Thump, right before me. Gravity is such a drag, but then, maybe not. Why an explanation dosed in logic and cold points? Let’s say something else entirely. Let’s listen for another story. Matters of truth and science have sharp elbows, always butting in line, but let’s put them aside for now. Let’s listen for the Pine Cone’s story.

Or so I told myself. We can bend to the easiest explanation, the logical tale. We’re like cattails this way, swaying with a superficial wind. We believe the senses. The stories and truths we grew up with, or read in a book, or was told by our parents. All well and good, but sometimes a turtle causes a traffic jam. You’re none the wiser and the world is sweeter for it.

Pine Cone Falls

A Pine Cone fell
from a Poplar.
      I assume.

It fell for longing.
The touch of soil.
Those suspended in air
must ache for the
sting of solid ground.

Roots do not grow
three stories high
in a hive of want.

So it is of the soil
now
Rooted as it yearns,
      or maybe,
a chipmunk got a tickle.

May 02 2007 10:32:02 AM EDT