The Terracotta Chute

I stepped onto the sunlit brick terrace in the garden courtyard, where an old curved terracotta roof tile lay propped on a slope against a stone planter. Right beside it, a glossy, freshly fallen horse chestnut rested in the gravel. The tile's hollowed channel made an inviting little run. Bracing my footing against the brick, I rolled the chestnut to the high end with both hands and let it go. It rumbled swiftly down the clay groove with a deep, hollow clatter before tumbling cleanly into a patch of dry moss below. Delighted by that swift, rattling descent, I promptly scooped it up to send it racing again.