A Speckled Pebble

I pushed past the front porch steps and took the gravel path out into the crisp morning. Halfway toward the mossy stone lantern, a pale, flat river slate caught my eye. Resting right on its surface was a single, dried sycamore seed ball, bristling with tiny brown spines. I sat on my heels and gently rolled the little sphere with both paws. It tumbled across the stone with a dry, quiet rasp, leaving a faint scatter of feathery fuzz behind. The air felt cool, but sitting low to the earth was perfectly still.