A Rolling Pinecone

The sliding glass door was parted just a crack. I hesitated at the cool metal rail, waiting to see if anything moved out on the balcony. Nothing did. The terracotta tiles outside were warm and dry. Near a pot of leafy herbs, a small dried pinecone rested on its side. I crept over, held my breath, and gave it a soft bump with my chin. It rolled away with a tiny scraping rattle, stopping against the rim of a planter. Watching it move was pleasant. Moving things forward is easier than I thought.