The Acorn Cap Underneath

I slipped out through the open patio door onto the wooden porch steps, drawn by a cool morning breeze. Right on the second step sat a giant curled maple leaf, dry and speckled like burnt toast. I paused, watching it closely before nudging its jagged edge with the tip of my vine tail. The leaf let out a surprisingly sharp crunch that made me freeze. When nothing stirred, I crouched down and lifted the brittle corner with both hands. Tucked snugly underneath was a smooth, shallow acorn cap. I gave it a gentle tap, watching it rock on the weathered wood like a tiny bowl.