Pine Cones Kell Lewen

Have you ever walked through a forest in the fragrant fall, and noticed how many pinecones are lying on the ground? Since prehistoric times, gymnosperms have produced these cones as a way to protect their seeds as they wait for an opening, for the warmth and love of the sun, for ways to spread their roots, to sprout into new growth.

How does a pinecone keep from getting crushed by a hiker’s boots, as it lies there, helpless?

Standing in front of the mirror, watching themselves mature into a grotesque form, it looks beautiful on anyone except themselves. Pinching and pulling, trying to reshape their skin, as if it were something they could change with their small chubby hands— A body will never be perfect enough. A person will never be good enough.

What if a pinecone can communicate, but we can’t understand their voice?

Screaming for help to someone who won’t listen, surrounded by the smell of regret because the world wasn't ready to care. Do they feel abandoned because the god they were taught to love betrayed them, left them for dead, let them fall unprotected to lie upon the Earth? No matter how many times they went to sleep wishing that they would wake up to find they were someone else, they wake up, still a pinecone: forgotten, quiet, waiting.

Their hearts shatter, becoming a simple crunch crunch crunch under the feet, unsuspecting words like hiking boots unconcerned with stepping lightly, giant daggers designed to puncture your heart enough to make you dream of another world, an escape too enticing to allow.

Do pinecones dream of the future? Do they wish they could somehow discover a laboratory to heal their broken minds, free them from the tyranny of an imperfect body? Do they imagine a world where all pinecones, not just the luckiest bunch, get a chance to bury themselves deep into the ground? Do they dream of growing into a sturdy tree, not able to be swayed by the strong winds of looks so fierce they could crumble a building; tumbling, tripping to try to find a way out of the hole they were born into?

Does a pinecone worry about what the other pinecones think? Do they worry, in the long winter, that the icicles hanging above may crack and fall over them? Constantly worrying, wondering what they've done wrong; because in a pine cone’s mind, nothing will ever be right enough. People are fragile like icicles; they didn't know they could break.

I have worries I'm too worried to share, because what if no one worries about me? The troubled turmoil rages in my mind at every waking moment, trying to find the answers to the questions I can't answer.

Why can't the sadness dissipate into a cloud, washed away by the sunlight? Why can't I have the answer to every question I've ever asked myself?

Does a pinecone ever despair in the dark? Does it ever wonder if spring will ever arrive? When a pinecone feels the summer sunshine, does it wonder why it took so long? Or does it arch its back to reach for the light and forget the icy blackness?

Nurtured to life into a giant, sturdy tree, ready to grow new pinecones, creating a soft bed of pine needles below so that they won't hit the ground too hard, I hope they will love themselves beyond compare. Because they were nurtured, cared for, taught to express every thought and emotion that crosses their beautiful mind, sprouting buds of curiosity, discovery— never once stepping on a fellow pinecone, helping to create room for their growth, together.

How does a pinecone keep from getting crushed if it is helpless?

Kell Lewen, Grade 8 Oak Hill Montessori, Shoreview Teaching Artists: Desdamona, Kyle “Guante” Tran Myhre,

Frank Sentwali, and SEE MORE PERSPECTIVE