The Golden Corn Kernel

I slipped through the screen door flap and scurried straight beneath the low garden bench, pausing while a distant pigeon fluttered up to the fence. Right in a sun-faded seam between two red bricks, a single dried flint corn kernel rested upright on its narrow tip. I held completely still for three slow breaths. When the quiet settled, I inched forward on my tummy. Reaching out with both front paws, I gave the glossy amber bead a timid tap. It tilted with a crisp, hard click and settled flat into the sandy mortar groove, glowing like a drop of honey in the cool shadow. I tucked my paws tight beneath my chest, watching over my bright little grain.