Today the wind was fierce and the sky was grey. My walk was long--down to the beach, up the shore, and back again, but I still had trouble deciding on an object; nothing seemed quite right, nothing called the way I was expecting. I wanted to take whole trees, the side of the cliff-face, the patterns of the wind whipping across the sand. I settled on this hollowed half of a pinecone sitting in the grass amongst fallen needles.
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