Tumble Down the Planks

A dried pinecone sat near the edge of the top porch step. Stillness... then a small push. I nudged it forward with my long sleeve. It tipped over the edge. One sharp thump... then another... tumbling from wooden plank to plank in clumsy, clattering flips. I held completely still, listening. No footsteps inside. No sudden movement. Only the cool morning air drifting between the porch railings. Down below, the cone rolled to a stop against the gravel path. A muffled murmur slipped through my teeth. Drifting down after it, I touched its spiky, flared scales where it came to rest.