Just seven (very successful) years old,
she heads purposefully toward
the bottom of the yard
where her favorite trees
( a stand of towering pines)
wait for her
as they do every day
(whether she visits or not).
In one mittened hand
she holds the handles of a cloth bag.
Her footprints in the fresh snow
trace a straight path to the trees.
Once beneath the trees--
where snow has not yet penetrated--
she pauses and scans the ground:
pinecones!
She has come for pinecones.
She loves pinecones,
and nearly everyday,
whether it's the season for pinecones or not,
she comes to look and collect.
The trees know this,
and so drop their cones more gently,
more thoughtfully,
passed from branch to branch,
so they land undamaged.
The pines realize, of course,
that these cones bear their seeds
and that--because the girl picks them up--
few will germinate and sprout.
But they have talked and are in agreement:
their love for the girl and their delight in her joy
make the sacrifice an easy one.
Today, with the approach of Christmas,
they have been generous;
the girl bends to pick up cone after cone,
counting as she places each--carefully--in the bag.
And the trees stir in the wind.
And the girl smiles within and without.
And the world is a welcoming place, after all.
Text and image © 2019 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.
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