The Rocking Cup

I stepped out from the warm coat pocket onto the weathered cedar slats of a sidewalk flower bench in Bridgeport. Right beside a damp moss tray lay an upturned acorn cap, its hollow bowl cupped toward the morning light. Intrigued by the rounded basin, I climbed deliberately over the rim. The woody interior cradled my paws snugly. When I leaned into my forward stance, the curved base tilted with a faint, smooth rock against the timber, then swayed gently back as I shifted my weight. Standing steady at the center, I rode the rhythmic pitch, turning the small wooden cup into a rocking vantage above the street.