Daily story, August 19, 2025

The acorns had fallen early. I no longer kept a calendar, but I could tell by the heat in the air and the ground. It’s bad luck, someone told me once, which seemed backwards to me, like saying it was an omen when all my hair fell out. I gathered up the acorns and hid them away. It felt like it would help. I still allow myself a little superstition.