Prying the Husk

A split horse chestnut husk lay wedged between the weathered teak slats of the park bench, its prickly green armor parted just enough to reveal a sliver of glossy mahogany beneath. Prying it open with bare fingers would have snagged my lace cuffs, so I retrieved a sturdy cedar twig from the gravel below. Bracing my boots firmly against the timber, I slotted the stick into the seam and levered downward with steady pressure. The fibrous casing parted with a crisp snap, tumbling the immaculate, satin-skinned seed out onto the sunlit wood. Rolling the cool, heavy sphere beneath my fingertips was deeply satisfying.