A Rolling Acorn

A smooth brown acorn rested right in the center of the warm stone paver. I paused, planting each of my feet firmly into the grit before leaning forward. With a slow, deliberate tilt of my snout, I nudged the cap. The acorn gave a hollow clack, wobbled, and rolled a few inches ahead across the flat rock. I shuffled forward at my own pace, nudging it once more until it tumbled into a shallow seam filled with dry moss. The solid scrape of the shell against the stone sounded pleasant, so I rested my chin against the warm slate and watched it stay put.