Thus far this spring, nine cones have fallen from the young volunteer pine in the front yard. I have them lined up as a decoration on the step. The grandkids count them each time they visit. Next year’s crop is already forming. It looks like there will be more. Beneath the pine, there is a lacy red Japanese maple that I planted for my mother about twenty years ago. It has become a big beautiful mound. Under the maple is moss. Under the moss, the ground. Under the ground, more ground — so much more that eventually, down is up, and flat is round.