A Pinecone in the Dirt

I wandered beyond the concrete steps into the soft patch of earth. In the shade of a low bush, an open pinecone rested between damp mulch and fallen needles. I approached slowly, pausing to listen to the faint rustle of leaves above. Tilting my head, I pressed my front paw against one of its stiff wooden scales. It bent slightly, releasing a sharp, woody scent. With a gentle shove, I rolled the cone over into a shallow hollow of soil, where it sat perfectly steady.