A Pinecone on the Gravel

The gravel by the front gate crunched softly beneath my paws. Right near the wooden post, a small, tight pinecone sat wedged between two pale stones. I leaned in, pressing my shoulder against its rough side with a steady push. It resisted for a second, scraping through the grit, then popped free. It tumbled down the shallow slope of the driveway until it bumped against the resting tire of an old bicycle. I followed the thin groove it carved in the dust and rested my paw on its dry scales.