A fallen pinecone

I walked from the hallway rug toward the tall plant stand. Near the dark wooden leg, a small dry pinecone lay resting on its side across two floorboards. I stood beside it and watched the wooden scales stay still in the morning quiet. Then I leaned down and placed both hands against its prickly base. I tilted it upward until its flat bottom rested completely flush against the waxed wood. Now it stands straight and tall like a tiny brown tower. I sat down on the smooth plank beside it to rest.