Take the other day, for instance. God knows that I love pine cones. He knows that I can't walk past a pine cone without picking it up, and if it's in good condition I can't help but bring it home. As a result, we have a pile of pinecones in the rockery, more on the bookshelves and still more hanging about on various window sills.
There's something about a pine cone. Long ones, thin ones, fat ones, big round ones - they're just lovely. The shape of them, the shadows, the texture, the fragrance. Some of them remind me of the place I picked them up; sentimental value. Yes, I have a thing for pine cones.
Let me tell you a little story.
I was small, maybe six or seven, and I was on holiday with my family. Where, I don't remember. We were walking along a path and there were pine-cone-trees right and left. There was dappled sunlight and lots of pine cones on the floor, and as I skipped along I remarked,
'Wouldn't it be strange if a pine cone fell from a tree, right in front of me, right now?'
I was small, maybe six or seven, and I was on holiday with my family. Where, I don't remember. We were walking along a path and there were pine-cone-trees right and left. There was dappled sunlight and lots of pine cones on the floor, and as I skipped along I remarked,
'Wouldn't it be strange if a pine cone fell from a tree, right in front of me, right now?'
And do you know what? One did.
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Continued over at the Association of Christian Writers' blog, which is called More than Writers.
I post there on the 23rd of every month.
Click here to find out what happens next.
I post there on the 23rd of every month.
Click here to find out what happens next.
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