A New Pitch

I pushed past the bottom edge of the screen door and stepped out onto the wide stone flags of the patio. Staying inside all morning had made my legs restless. The open air offered a completely different surface—hard, cool stone with subtle seams instead of carpet. Near the foot of a weathered garden bench, a fallen, dried acorn caught my eye. I nudged it with the toe of my boot; it rolled faster than the bead had indoors, drifting along a shallow groove in the paving. I paced out twelve steps to where two potted herbs formed a natural gate, set the acorn back on a flat slab, and planted my supporting foot to read the break.