Tumble

A dry pinecone lay wedged against the porch riser. Thick wooden scales. Light mass. I dropped onto four points and tapped it with my mechanical gauntlet. It rolled two inches, rattling hollow against the boards. Different from iron. I nudged it with my knuckle toward the lip of the top step. Aligned it straight. One sharp flick with the golden finger plate. It pitched into empty air. Tumbled down the concrete risers. Clack. Clack. Thud. Settled upright on the bottom landing. A low rumble left my chest. Clean descent.