A Green Cushion

The hallway door had stayed ajar, so I finally hopped past the threshold and made my way out onto the street, guided by the scent of damp earth. Soon, my plush feet touched the deep, springy cushion of emerald moss ringing an old oak tree. I froze, tilting my head to listen as a stray acorn rolled down the bark. Step by cautious step, I sank into the soft green carpet. Half-buried in the velvet fibers lay an acorn cap, polished smooth inside like a tiny wooden bowl. I nudged it with the tip of my beak until it settled upright, cupping a single drop of clean water.