The trees are pregnant with acorns, bunches, and bunches of them.
The woods are a productive scene of mingling, mixing, and being, from cracking sounds of not so safe landings to the bustle of tiny critter's feet. A squirrel and a smaller chipmunk scurry past. And I like their company, not staring or noticing me, as I gather, it feels comfortable.
Eric walks ahead of me, along the path, with his pant pockets whispering no vacancy. There is no time to judge his generosity for carrying my treasures, the size of other's bulging cheeks or my stretched shirttail. After all, we each carry our load differently, not better or worse, just in myriad variations.
Now I sit, toss the acorns about, and all the while decide what to do with them.
Click, click, and click is all I hear, as the remote shutter releases.
I reassure myself that something with spark and a creative idea will birth.