|photo: Maciej Sokolowski|
In a corner of a neighbor’s land too stony to till Cob makes a mystery. The small pines are budding, and today he brings an armload of stakes, pocketfuls of baling twine, soft rags to keep the bound seedlings from wind-chafing. For a moment Cob imagines a far-off summer day, a child smiling, wondering. With his good stone he sharpens his shears to a bright new edge, begins pruning.