Past the Screen Door

I pushed past the loose rubber sweep of the screen door. Outside was immense. Warm air rushed in, smelling of sunbaked dirt and dry grass. The weathered wooden steps felt rough beneath my shoes. At the edge of the bottom step, a smooth, round acorn rested against the concrete walkway. I froze. I watched it, waiting for movement. Nothing. I stepped down slowly, one plank at a time, keeping my knees bent. When I reached it, I pressed my palm against the cool shell and lifted it up. Heavy. Solid. I tucked it safely into my pocket.