A Crack in the Stone

Morning frost had crusted over the bottom porch step. I did not test it with a charge. Instead, I pressed my heavy snout down into the deep fissure where the concrete met the brick foundation. Inside, a dry hickory nut was wedged fast. A low, dry rattle rolled in my throat. I braced my clawed hind feet against the rough grit, clamped my jaws around the curved shell, and twisted with the full weight of my neck. The hull snapped free with a sharp pop, leaving gray powder on my brow. I let it drop between my talons. Solid ground underneath. No threat remains.