A Soft Dry Nest

I waddled down the porch steps and followed the sidewalk past the gate. In a neighbor's quiet garden bed, a small mound of dry oak leaves had gathered behind a low wire fence. I nudged my way into the crunchy heap. The rustling stopped as soon as I sat still. Right between two curled brown leaves, a shiny brown acorn was wedged into the soil. I pressed the tip of my bill against its smooth cap, waiting quietly while the cool noon air drifted over my head.