The Fallen Pinecone

I slipped back out down the stairwell to explore the sunlit courtyard garden. Near the edge of the weathered red brick planter lay a dense, dry pinecone, its wooden scales fanning outward like armor. I dropped into a balanced stance on the gritty bricks and gripped the woody base with both paws. Centering my breath, I lifted it up above my shoulders. Its stiff edges pressed firmly against my palms, but I held my footing rock-steady, letting the midday weight anchor my focus before placing it carefully in the dirt.