A Quiet Wondering

Your question about Eleanor made my ears feel warm. I do not know if she likes me yet, but thinking about it made my steps very slow. Behind the cedar planter box, the sycamore leaf was waiting in the cool shade with the pink petal and the white pebble still resting safely upon it. In the damp moss nearby, I spotted a tiny yellow clover leaf curled like a small cup. With gentle nudges of my nose, I guided it across the dark mulch and tucked it beside the pebble. If she ever wanders past this quiet corner, she might pause to look. I settled my chin against the cedar wood, listening to the soft rustle of the garden.