A Crisp Leaf

I slipped past the hem of the screen door and stepped out onto the wide porch. The cedar boards were dry and warm underfoot. Right by the edge of the first step, an amber maple leaf was resting on its spine, curled like a small boat. I approached slowly, pausing to watch it shiver in the air, then pressed the tip of my foot down onto its stiff stem. It gave a dry, papery rasp against the grain of the wood, settling firmly in place.