Stephen Mage

A Form of Currency

Jasper considered the lone pinecone in the center of the road, on what little was left of the yellow line. The pair stood atop one of so many hills, and Taffy stopped to take in the long stretch of highway before them, a narrow cut through the valley and a lazy rise beyond it. A pale sky let through the sun which made silver of the asphalt below, and yellow grass sprouted from around the graying spruce and hemlock that dutifully hugged the side of the road. Jasper rushed the pinecone and sent it flying with a weary swing of his torn boot.