I stepped away from my desk yesterday to grab some fresh air and a stretch. Midway through my stroll, I noticed a man crossing the parking lot, juggling a baby, a diaper bag, and a large Paw Patrol backpack with a small preschooler attached.

The little guy freed his hand from his father’s, pointed and squealed, “Daddy, acorn, acorn!”

The man glanced over his shoulder while patiently reaching again for the little hand and guiding his son safely onto the sidewalk, saying, “Sorry, buddy…” The boy and I understood this to mean it just wasn’t practical to go back and retrieve the tiny treasure.

I looked down at the patch of asphalt between us and spotted it. The perfect acorn, its cap still intact. I changed direction and walked toward the lonely tree nut, picked it up, and skipped to catch up with the young family.

“Here you go,” I said, bending down and placing it in the boy’s open hand. “It’s a good one.”

He smiled shyly. Dad smiled, too, and prompted his son to thank me, which he did, as he lifted the acorn high so Dad could see, too, just how amazing it was.

As we parted, I noticed more fallen acorns. I chose two good ones, one brown and one still a bit green, and put them in my pocket.

It was good walk.