The Chestnut Husk

A split green casing caught my eye among the damp blades of grass near the walkway. Kneeling at the lawn's edge, I settled my weight against a flat border stone. The outer shell bristled with blunt spines, parted just enough to show a dark, gleaming surface within. Using the dry tip of a twig, I carefully levered the husk wider until the chestnut dislodged into my palm. It was cool, dense, and perfectly smooth, its deep mahogany sheen interrupted only by a pale circular crown. I dusted the clinging garden loam from its curve and placed it squarely on the stone.