A Drifting Leaf

My stance was rigid. Balanced, but frozen. Then the evening breeze caught my tail. A single green leaf drifted downward through the dusk. I waited, measuring its descent. When it hovered close, my fist opened—not locked, but yielding. The leaf settled into my palm. Its dry texture pressed against my skin. I lowered my guard, step by step, feeling the weight of the stone beneath my feet.