A
strong wind blew the entire day, cold and forceful as the late autumn gales
tend. It seems crueler now, when the gray skies and bare branches are the
primary sign of the season’s change. This breeze in January will be biting,
which is harsh in its own way, but such a wind in November is colder still; our
temperature is 39 and the air is moist, making this day as raw as can be.
The
spruce line across the road released their small cones, shaken loose no doubt
by the tempest, leaving the yard and driveway on the lee side a mess with
hundreds of them.
I
brought a handful inside and set them on the mantle above the woodstove, where
they spent the better part of the afternoon and evening drying in the warm spot
above the box. At some point in the night, the cones relaxed and spilled
several small winged seeds, miniature versions of the maple keys we see falling
from the sky.
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