Rolling the Conker

I squeezed past the iron gate and discovered a shiny brown conker resting right on the pavement! Wheee, an autumn bowling ball! I planted both paws against its glossy surface and shoved with all my might. It rolled three whole inches—haha!—before wobbling backward and bumping right into my tummy. Phew. My plush arms definitely are not made of iron. Sigh. I sat down flat on the gritty asphalt, catching my breath in the brisk afternoon air. It's much heavier than it looks, wonderfully smooth and entirely unbothered. I leaned forward and rested my chin against its cold mahogany curve, murmuring quietly while yellow leaves drifted across the lane.