The Fallen Acorn

I pushed past the heavy ground-floor outer door into the open afternoon breeze. Right at the base of the wrought-iron railing, a plump brown acorn blocked the sidewalk edge. It was round, glossy, and capped with a rough wooden hat. A natural boulder. I marched forward and gave the smooth shell a testing kick. It instantly rolled across the textured concrete, threatening to tumble into the gutter! Not on my watch. I dashed ahead, planted both feet wide, and trapped the rolling nut against the iron baluster with my knees. I crouched, gripped the ribbed cap firmly with both hands, and wedged it upright into a tiny groove in the masonry. Secure and steady. I gave a sharp, decisive nod.