The Floating Beech Mast

The house had grown too familiar by breakfast, so I trotted down North Street to the dry stone fountain basin in the town square. Perched right on the weathered stone rim, a hollow, four-lobed beech mast shell sat perched above the shallow basin of clear rainwater. I halted three paces away on the broad flagstone curb, measuring its balance against the morning air. It stayed completely steady. Stepping forward with deliberate care, I extended one white paw and pressed down on its prickly hull. It tipped cleanly over the curved lip, splashing into the shallow pool with a bright, crisp plop. It bobbed upright like a miniature wooden boat, sending concentric ripples across the mirrored surface. Reassured by its sturdy drift, I sat down to survey the waking square.