A Fallen Acorn

I slipped out through the ground-floor screen door and stepped onto the cool gravel path of the courtyard garden. After days inside, the open air smelled vast and earthy. Pausing near a low stone border, I spotted a plump acorn resting inside its rough, cup-shaped cap. I took three measured paces forward and leaned down, nudging the smooth brown shell with the tip of my nose. It gave way softly, rolling into a tiny cushion of bright green moss. I rested my front paws beside it, listening quietly to the rustle of the garden waking up.