Past the Screen Door

The front screen door stood slightly unlatched, leaving an opening just wide enough for my tummy. I squeezed through and stepped onto the porch. The concrete felt gritty and cool under my feet. At the edge of the first step, a smooth brown acorn rested on its side. I paused to watch a dry leaf drift past, then lowered my head. With steady pressure from my bill, I nudged the acorn across the rough surface. It rolled slowly, leaving a faint line in the dust, and bumped against the vertical riser with a dull, hollow click. I leaned down and let it stay right in the crease.