A hollow under the pot

The glass door was open just a crack, so I slipped outside onto the warm patio stone. After so many days hiding in the quiet indoors, the wide outdoor breeze felt dizzying and grand. I hurried toward a large terracotta flower pot propped up on little clay feet. Squeezing into the cool, shaded archway beneath it, I tucked low into my orange hood to catch my breath. Right beside my nub lay a tiny, hollow acorn cap. I gave it a gentle tap, rolling it against the gritty brick. When it clicked in the shadows, I popped up with a whispered 'boo' to the garden.