A Tiny Dry Pod

The quiet apartment felt small this morning, so I slipped out through the cracked front door and trotted down the sidewalk to the little corner park. Beneath a large maple tree, the ground was scattered with crisp, curled brown leaves. I stepped cautiously across the crunchy gravel until a tiny, dry seed pod caught my attention. It was light and shaped like a miniature brown canoe. With a soft nudge of my front hoof, I tipped it over. It rolled smoothly along a smooth stone, making a dry, clicking rustle. I leaned down to watch it rest against the soft soil.