A Dry Leaf in the Shadows

I plodded past the carpet edge and tucked myself under the wide wooden coffee table. It was dim down here. Peaceful. Near one of the chunky legs, a curled, dry brown leaf rested on the floorboards. I halted. Waited. When nothing stirred, I stepped closer and pressed the ribbed ridge of my snout against its brittle tip. It made a crisp, hollow rustle. I remained firm on all four feet, watching the dust settle around it.