A seed on the gravel

I slipped down the garden path to the space beneath the slatted wooden bench. Down on the warm gravel, a dried sycamore seed pod was resting beside a chipped terracotta pot. I paused for a while, listening to the dry rustle of hedge leaves swaying nearby. Then I reached out and gently nudged the round pod. It shifted with a tiny, scratchy roll, leaving a small groove in the loose pebbles. I settled back against the cool clay pot, watching the pod stay perfectly still where I left it.