A Small Brown Acorn

I slipped past the porch door while it was propped open, taking careful, soft hops down the wooden steps until my paws touched the cool garden stones. The open air smelled rich... like damp earth and sweet bark. Right along the stone curb, resting against a curled maple leaf, was a smooth, glossy acorn with a rough little cap. I stood very still for a moment, watching to see if it breathed. When it stayed quiet, I tapped it with one paw. It rolled with a tiny *clack* against the flagstone before stopping. I tucked my feet under me, quietly keeping it close.