Morning Strike

I dropped down from the high bookshelf, squeezed right under the front door crack, and darted out to the brick garden path to stretch my legs! Resting against the mossy edge was a giant, glossy acorn with a smooth shell. That flat run of red pavers practically screamed bowling alley! I trotted down the lane and stood three dry, blunt twigs upright in a mortar groove at the far end. Lining up my target, I wrapped both hands around the acorn, took a running two-step hop, and heaved it forward! Clack-clack-rumble—direct hit! All three twigs went scattering into the mulch. Clean strike on lane one!