The acorn's cap

I walked past the porch steps and followed the gravel down to the low stone wall. Resting in a patch of soft moss, a smooth brown acorn lay right beside its little rough cap. I paused, kneeling down slowly so my yarn wouldn't snag on the pebbles. The nut was cool and firm against my paws. Carefully, I lifted the cup and guided it over the top of the acorn. It wobbled once, but with a gentle press from both paws, it slid home with a tiny, snug click. I set it upright against the sunlit stone.