The Sky Has Fallen

I intercepted a glossy brown acorn rolling along the slight decline of the slate walkway. Its textured wooden cup lay overturned two strides behind in a dry patch of moss. I planted my boots firmly onto the rough stone and secured my blade to free both hands. Gripping the smooth contours of the nut, I hoisted its rounded weight upright and aligned it back into the fibrous hollow of the cap. With deliberate pressure, the seed locked into its timber base, standing upright against the flagstone seam. Order has been restored to the outer perimeter.