A Rolling Acorn

I slipped out through the slightly open back screen door and crept across the wooden patio planks into the quiet morning shade under a bench. Resting there against a weathered table leg was a smooth, round acorn with a textured cap. I paused, watching it remain entirely still, then stretched one soft paw forward to nudge its polished side. It rolled with a quiet, hollow rattle across the dry slats and bumped against my foot. The smooth shell felt cool against my fur.