Blogue d'un québécois expatrié en Angleterre. Comme toute forme d'autobiographie est constituée d'une large part de fiction, j'ai décidé de nommer le blogue Vraie Fiction.
Thursday, 17 April 2014
A pine cone
This is a post about one of these little nothings that make life. I took this picture yesterday on my lunch break, of a pine cone that had fell on a bush, the thick leafs keeping it from falling further. I don't know why but I thought it was a striking image, it got stuck in my head so I took the picture. There are plenty of pine trees in the business park where my working place is, so there are plenty of dry pine cones like this one falling on the ground. I don't associate pine cones with Spring, for me it is of course the object of cold autumn or winter days, things you put dry in the fire after a walk outside. This is what I think about when I see a pine cone: I daydream about warming up by the fireplace. In a way, it is one of these objects that trigger my mind the way madeleines did to Proust. I didn't put them that often in a fire, but I remember doing it sometimes.