KarmenRose
Cone Collecting
WHEN the pine tosses its cones
To the song of its waterfall tones,
Who speeds to the woodland walks?
Emerson wondered in Woodnotes.
She does. Which may be all that matters to him as he looks at us while we look at her.
The soul, having selected its own society, etches lines around the object of its affection. Without any notion of human right or free will, without any regard to freedom or independence, it stakes out territory with terrible precision. This, it tells us, is mine.
And if she wants these pine cones ….
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