A Rolling Chestnut

Stepping out through the propped doorway, my heavy feet carried me onto the cool flagstones of the front stoop. A glossy brown chestnut lay resting beside the base of the iron railing, catching the pale morning light. I paused several inches away, letting my weight settle firmly before surveying its rounded shell. Moving with deliberate care, I extended my long neck downward and pressed the blunt tip of my snout against its smooth surface. The chestnut gave a faint, hollow click against the stone and rolled gently forward, gliding along the grit until it nestled quietly into a shallow seam between two slabs.