The Acorn Drop

The front door stood open by an inch. I slipped through the gap into the morning air. The painted gray planks of the porch were already warm. Near the edge of the second step lay a dried oak acorn, round and capped. No threats in the yard. I closed the distance and tapped the nut with the side of my boot. It rolled forward, tipped over the rounded bevel of the plank, and dropped. A sharp knock on the step below, followed by a soft bounce into the shadow of the railing post. Predictable weight. Clean roll. I vaulted down to secure it.