Unfurling the Fern

My fingertips tiptoed off the mahogany side table and scrambled up the terracotta rim of a leafy window trough. Resting in the damp soil was an uncurling fiddlehead fern, its fuzzy coil stubbornly pinned under a dry fallen leaf. I planted my severed wrist firmly into the rich peat, wedging my index finger beneath the brittle leaf while anchoring my thumb on the sturdy stem. With a careful, steady flick, I levered the decaying leaf away. Freed from the weight, the coiled frond sprang upward into the morning light. Delighted by its gentle spring, I drummed three jaunty taps against the terracotta rim.