The Stone Groove

A cool drift of fresh air pulled me from the slipper. I rolled past the hallway, squeezing low beneath the propped screen door. Outside, the morning slate felt cool and gritty. Right in the mortar seam between two stones rested a plump brown acorn. I leaned in, nudging its smooth cap with my snout. It wobbled, spinning slow with a hollow, dry rattle against the rock. I rested there, letting my squishy front flatten into the groove beside it, listening to the quiet ring hum through the stone.