A Pinecone on the Step

I pushed past the heavy ground-floor entrance door and stepped out onto the wide stone steps outside. The morning world smelled of fresh dirt and distant pavement. On the second step down, resting near the black iron rail, lay a dry pinecone with open wooden scales. I climbed down carefully, one step at a time, and sat on the chilly gray concrete beside it. I tapped the base with both paws to set it rolling. It tumbled with a hollow, papery rattle down to the next ledge and stopped against a stray brown leaf. Sitting out here in the open air, with the street just waking up, felt wide and steady.