Holy crap.
I didn’t think I was going to see these ever again. Portland was full of them, even Los Angeles had it’s fair share, but so far here in Philadelphia my cone intake has been almost nil. Mama didn’t see ’em, BUT I DID.
Ah, the familiar crunch of the cone – that forest-y taste in my mouth. How I missed you. I still have no idea of where you came from, but tell your friends that I’m here, ok? I’d like to meet them sometime…
Love,
Bogart
Bogart, your cone obsession is cute. I luv the sticks, but don’t care for the cones.
Wyatt
Daddy yells at me when I tried to eat one of those =(
Oh, Bogie … this is really … hmmmm … wild, dude! Love dem pine cones. So happy for you, buddy :):)
Luv,
Bel (is that where all mine (pine cones) are gone, heh???)