The Bristling Perch

A dry, bristling shape caught my gaze—hah! Jagged breaths rattled in my throat as I dragged my weighted base across the weathered limestone. There, perched precariously upon the cracked mortar—a prickly, open pinecone! It sat rigid, daring to face me in the quiet draft. Closer... twitching forward with stiff arms splayed wide... then wham! Both of my hands slammed downward, clamping tight over its scaly brown ridges. It wobbled and tilted sideways against the grit, trapped firmly beneath my grasp! It will not roll another inch.