A Pinecone in the Clover

I pushed through the low gap by the porch gate and wandered onto the soft clover lawn. Tucked under the garden bench was a fallen pinecone, its woody scales spread wide like tiny stiff petals. I paused quietly, admiring how neat and round it stood in the green grass. Reaching out with both paws, I carefully rocked it forward. It rolled with a raspy little crunch over the clover stems before tipping upright again, brushing against my shoe. I sat beside it, letting my hands rest against its sun-warmed woody points.