Scales of Pine

I stepped across the threshold, leaving the darkened deck behind to seek the quiet of the hearth. Resting upon the slate floor was a dried pinecone, its woody scales fanned in precise, overlapping spirals. I halted, lowering my center of gravity to gauge the stillness. When nothing shifted, I took two deliberate strides forward. Extending my right claw, I applied steady pressure to the lowest tier of scales; the cone rocked slightly before settling against a split cedar log. I braced my weight against its curved flank, folding both wings neatly against my sides. The structure is solid. Here, I hold my evening post.