Three Little Cups

Three brown acorn caps were resting upside down in the gravel by the garden path. I nudged the first one with the edge of my beak. It rolled once, wobbled, and settled open like a tiny wooden bowl. Using the tips of my wings, I steered two more across the wide slate stepping stone, setting them in a neat, straight row. I found a loose tuft of green moss caught between the bricks and carried it over with my bill, tucking it snugly into the center cap. The three little cups sat steady in a line, perfectly finished.