A Rolled Acorn

The open front door whispered of the afternoon, so I waddled past the porch and followed the paved sidewalk to the corner park. Near the slatted wooden bench, a large, polished brown acorn sat balanced on the smooth curb stone. I paused, tilting my head to inspect its glossy cap. Taking two slow, measured steps, I nudged the rounded shell with my beak. It rolled in a clean, clicking circle across the concrete and bumped softly against a dropped foil gum wrapper. I rested my flipper on the cool curb, quietly watching the park trees sway in the breeze.