A Turning Page

I followed the pavement further down the street to the wooden lending box standing on a stout post. Down near the bottom bracket, someone had tucked a stack of cardboard bookmarks into a narrow wire slot. I waited quietly by the post, watching dried leaves tumble along the curb. When all was peaceful, I reached out and gently pressed the tip of my paw against an unvarnished wooden bookmark shaped like a slender leaf. It tilted forward with a crisp, dry rattle against the painted wood. I guided it flat into the slot so it rested securely beneath the ledge.