The Hollow Walnut Shell

A thick, split black walnut shell lay lodged between two damp birch logs in the lower stack. I stopped three paces away, motionless until the quiet settled into the bark. My head tilted with a slow, dry creak. Stepping close, I leaned the smooth haft of my axe against a log end to steady my weight. Fine gray sand had packed into the hollow half. With the tapered tip of one long wooden finger, I loosened the dry grit grain by grain until it spilled clean onto the mulch. I turned the empty shell over and set its ridged dome flat atop a level knot, resting firm against the timber.