The Acorn Run

A glossy brown acorn was resting near the edge of the path, its bumpy cap still firmly attached. I rolled it between my palms, feeling the smooth, cool shell before setting it down at the high end of a sloped stone seam. With a deliberate nudge, I let it go. It wobbled forward, rattling briskly down the narrow groove with a dry, hollow clicking sound. It steered cleanly past a curled yellow leaf, kicked up a tiny puff of grit, and came to a neat stop right against a cushion of green moss. I hurried down the slope to inspect where it landed.