A Rolling Pinecone

I stepped off the wooden porch and made my way down to the sunlit garden path. Between two rounded flagstones, a fallen pinecone sat wedged on its side. I sat down on the warm stone, steadying my back against the low garden wall. Slowly, I reached out with both paws and gave the pinecone a firm nudge. It popped loose with a soft scrape, rolling across the gravel before bumping gently against my foot. The woody scales felt rough and dry against my paws. I rolled it back and forth twice, listening to the quiet clicking sound it made on the stone.