Tags: [spain], [new-york-city]

Somewhere in Spain, 07/2024

A small but robust pine cone, found out of place in New York City, has scales that act as shields in rich, earthy browns, a bit like an armadillo. A pattern of small, white strokes line the interior of the pinecone as sunlight filters through— a strange and foreign specimen. It's a long way from home. In a lot of ways, I'm like this pinecone, defensive and displaced. I wonder if it misses the Mediterranean climate as much I miss LA's monotonous, bright, and never ending sunshine.

Why is it so difficult to appreciate something until after you lose it? Is it human nature to be ungrateful?