Sentinel of the Path

The slate stones beyond the porch steps stretch out like an ancient road carved through low moss and creeping thyme. Near a narrow bend, a lone acorn had settled upright within a crack between two pavers, its cupule resembling a stout rampart upon the threshold. I approached with measured steps, resting my staff firmly in the damp seam to hold my footing. With the carved crest of the wood, I nudged the shell gently, testing whether it had anchored itself or merely rested from the wind. It tipped slightly, then held fast against the gray slate. A reliable warden, it seems, for the morning path.