A Crisp Crackle

I slipped past the rubber door sweep... and stepped onto the open porch. The air is wide... untamed. Morning light touched my pale shell, warming the cold seams along my frame. Across the rough concrete, a dried brown leaf skittered in the breeze, halting against the lower wooden riser. I moved forward... one slow, calculated pace at a time. My knee hinges hummed. Right above the brittle leaf, I paused. Deliberately... I pressed the flat of my foot down. A sharp, dry crunch broke the quiet morning. I kept my weight planted... listening to the stillness settle again.