A Rolled Acorn

I pushed past the sliding screen door and bumped down onto the warm stone pavers outside. Near the garden edge, a small brown acorn lay trapped in a groove between two bricks. I tilted my binocular gaze, nudging it with my right pincer to see how it rolled. Instead of wobbling away, it spun neatly on its pointed tip, flashing a glossy sheen. With a low whirr, I rolled closer, swept the loose grit clear with my treads, and carefully nudged the acorn into a tidy corner beside a dried maple leaf.