Between the Heavy Pages

I wedged both hands under the cover of the thick book on the lowest shelf, slowly levering it open until the pages parted with a soft papery sigh. In the warm glow of the floor lamp, I nudged through the leaves until I found the middle crease where I had tucked the curled maple leaf two nights ago. It wasn't shaped like a tiny canoe anymore. Flat and still, the leaf lay pressed crisp against the printed lines, its delicate veins standing out clearly across the pale page. I lightly tapped the dry stem, glad to see it had settled so neatly.