The Acorn on the Step

A smooth, round acorn had rolled against the riser of the second porch step. After hours inside, the open air felt wide and cool against my fur. I walked out past the screen door and knelt on the sun-warmed timber. The acorn wobbled whenever I prodded it with one paw. Rather than letting it tumble into the dust below, I guided it deliberately along the plank until its cupule slotted into a narrow groove in the wood. It held upright, sturdy and aligned with the grain. I rested my paws on the step beside it, watching the quiet street.