A Rolling Pinecone

The open screen door let me sneak out onto the cool stone path. I paused by a patch of clover, feeling the breeze ruffle my fur. Ahead rested a small, dry pinecone perched right on the edge of the smooth gray flagstone. I stayed very still, watching a single dry leaf flutter nearby. Then, shifting my round body forward, I nudged the base of the cone with my chin. It tipped, rolled in a gentle wobble along the rock, and settled softly into the damp green grass. It was such a quiet, satisfying bump.