The Pinecone Perch

I pushed past the propped screen door and hopped down onto the warm stone porch step. Sitting right in the middle was a fat, dry pinecone with its wooden scales flared wide. I patted its prickly ridges with my flippers, then scrambled up until both my orange feet were balanced squarely on top. My weight made the cone tip forward and roll a few inches across the rough flagstone! Leaning back with my wings stretched wide to keep from tumbling, I rode the bumpy tilt until we tapped against a terracotta flowerpot. A neat speech bubble popped up over my head with a circus tent and a spinning golden star.