Cone. Like pine cone, fir cone, evergreen tree cone. I was out again today, tackling the “raking of the cones”. My dad’s property is 3/4 of an acre, which isn’t very large when you compare it to the Granite Falls house. BUT there are trees that feel that it is their exclusive right and occupation to solidly cover the ground, unfortunately lawn, with cones.
This may seem inconsequential, but the abundance fills wheel barrows, barrows with an s. Not once a year, or twice a year, but constantly.
My theory is that the conifers in last year’s California fires sent some sort of tree mail to the Washington trees. “Prepare to die!” In Scouts, we learned that forest fires pop the cones and send out seeds to create the new generation.
Many things in my days are pointing to ancestry and lineage. Yesterday in Reiki, the vision appeared of an enormous tree on the hill. We visited it in the current time line, and then saw the generations return to the same place, honoring the tree (the ancestors).
We are one. We are joined in the continuum, never to die, always to be a part of the Eternal. The cones remind us of our evolving grace. What a beautiful awareness.
micheleplumbstowell.org 