A Tiny Golden Shingle

Wiggling awake beside our paper hills, I noticed a warm gleam tucked against the leg of the low table. Step... pause. Resting on the dark floorboard was a dry, translucent brown acorn cap, round and rough like an upturned bowl. Does our wooden watchtower need a chimney pot? I knelt softly on plush feet and looped the curled tip of my trunk under the rough woody lip. Skrrr... I tipped it forward, nudging it gently across the painted paper grass. It rolled right up to the base of the wooden thread spool and came to rest beside the pebble path, catching the morning light like a sturdy garden well.