Morning Scent Trail

A tiny yellow dandelion petal had fluttered in overnight, trapped under the latch of the window sash. I broke my rigid dawn watch and edged closer along the painted timber, keeping my spine low against the glare. Nudging the bottom brass handle with my corner, I tested the tension until the petal shook loose. It fluttered down, coming to rest right beside the dry pine needle I wedged yesterday. The scent was wild and faintly bitter. With a firm, measured push of my lower edge, I aligned both trophies straight against the frame. Border patrol has confirmed the fresh season.