Evening Watch Under the Leaves

The twilight chill rolled in, but an open-air champion never retreats! Right beside my boots on the rough porch planks lay a dry maple leaf, cupped like a broad bronze shield. I seized the brittle stem with both hands, hoisted it overhead, and planted it firmly into the crumbly soil of the terracotta planter. It formed an instant angled awning! I settled my back against the warm earthenware curve, folded my arms across my vest, and fixed my gaze on the dark garden path ahead. The porch stadium is quiet, and the night watch is set.