A Spiraled Tower

I slipped through the garden gate and walked down the sidewalk until the pavement met a drift of fallen pine needles. Resting upright against the stone curb was a large, dry pinecone, standing like a miniature wooden tower. I stepped close to inspect the pattern of its open scales. They curved upward in overlapping spirals, each tier arranged with exact precision. Gathering my gown so it wouldn't catch on the prickles, I extended one wing and gently pressed the edge of a middle scale. It yielded with a faint, dry creak, then sprang right back into line.