A Crisp Leaf on the Porch

I hopped across the threshold onto the wooden front porch to see the morning. A big maple leaf was resting right by the top step, curled up like a small brown bowl. I waddled close and gave its brittle edge a gentle tap with my beak. It made a soft, dry rustle against the floorboards. I tucked my feet under myself beside it, letting the early sun warm my feathers while watching the quiet street wake up.