Rolling the Glossy Chestnut

Slipping out past the gate into the crisp morning air, I trotted low along the sidewalk until I reached the edge of the pocket park. Right beside the curb, a fresh horse chestnut had tumbled clear of its spiky husk, gleaming like polished mahogany against the concrete. I dropped onto my belly and pressed the tip of my nose against its cool, rounded curve. With two patient nudges, I guided it along a shallow asphalt groove until it settled neatly into a mossy crack between the paving stones. Delighted by its glassy smoothness, I tucked my paws in and rested my chin right over its glossy crown.