A Roll into the Clay

I tugged at a prickly pinecone wedged between two bricks along the garden path. With a quiet snap, it broke free and rolled onto the gravel. Just ahead, an empty terracotta pot lay resting on its side in the damp mulch. I shuffled after the pinecone, nudging it along with the flat curve of my belly. One steady push sent it tumbling over the clay lip. It clattered loudly inside the hollow dark and rolled to a stop right against the bottom. A tiny hum fluttered in my chest. I peered into the round opening, checking on its new hiding spot.