A Crisp Pinecone Roll

I ventured past the lobby glass doors and scooted into the soft grass beneath a wide wooden garden bench. In the cool shadow lay a fallen pinecone, perfectly dry and bristled. Its woody scales curled outward in neat rows. I nudged my flat base firmly against the bench leg, taking careful aim with the corner of my cheek. With one polite bump, I nudged the cone forward. It rolled across a patch of smooth dry dirt with a rapid, crackling murmur, spinning to a halt right beside a yellow maple leaf. It felt very pleasant to set it in motion.