From the time the white powdery fluff forms

I know it is time for new life to take on

Shuttering fearfully scurries the little ones

to gather what they need to nestle

The air keeps it in place

though it may move briskfully about

until a stronger sun takes refuge

conversing with the floor and the trees

What falls below toward a sleepy doe

Bids a fond and calculated “Hello”

An outer shell prickly

To attain its sustenance trickly

A thorn in one’s side as but a splinter

I dream of pine cones in the Winter