The Spinning Acorn

I squeezed past the bottom flap of the screen door and stepped out into the open air for the very first time. The quiet yard felt immense, but my gaze soon caught a dried acorn resting on the weathered planks. Crouching low, I rolled it with both hands toward the step's edge. Its curved cap caught snugly against a deep wood grain groove, wobbling upright and spinning in a brief, humming circle before settling down. Kneeling on the cold timber, I gave it another soft tap, watching how smoothly it twirled outside in the wide morning light.