A Glow on Cold Brick

I trotted along the damp brick paving, taking in the vast, open chill of the street. Right beside the low stone curb, a fallen maple leaf lay trapped against the metal rim of a street drain. A tall outdoor streetlight hummed awake overhead, pouring a sharp amber cone straight down into the puddle beside my paws. I didn't hesitate. I marched up to the drain grate and planted both front paws on the cold, patterned iron. The wet leaf trembled as a cool night draft slid past. I lowered my chin, held perfectly still, and watched the lamplight flicker across the dark water.