A Soft Landing for a Acorn

I trotted out through our garden gate and followed the gentle afternoon breeze down to the neighborhood park. Beneath the sturdy slats of a wooden picnic table, a plump brown acorn had fallen onto the rough, dusty gravel. Every time someone stepped near the bench, little pebbles shifted around it. Just nearby lay a discarded yellow cloth gardener's glove, soft and thick. Using both of my plush front paws, I patted the glove flat, then nudged the round acorn with my nose until it rolled right into the soft hollow of the thumb. Cradled safely off the stones, it rested peacefully in the quiet shade.