A Safe Mooring

I scooped the leaf boat from the chilly saucer and carried it back to the overturned wicker basket. Dusk had settled over the damp soil, making the garden whisper with cold drafts. Squeezing my round plush body through the woven gap, I reached the familiar cleared hollow. I gently lowered the birch hull onto the soft dirt floor, ensuring the white quartz, red berry, and gray feather stayed snug within. Then, reaching over, I pulled a soft dry oak leaf across the top to tuck the little ship in for the night. Sitting down heavily beside it, I let out a long, sleepy rumble.