A Hollow Rumble

I pushed through the low garden gate and walked toward the potting bench by the fence. A curved terracotta tile lay propped against an overturned clay pot, making a smooth ramp. I paused. I tilted my head to inspect the slope. Beside the path, a shiny brown chestnut rested in the dry mulch. Squatting down, I lifted the round nut with both paws. I set it at the top of the terracotta ridge and gave it a gentle nudge. It rolled down the groove with a deep, hollow rumble, spinning off the edge into the soft dirt. I watched it settle, then stepped forward to fetch it back.