A Speckled Shadow

A tiny rustle near the low shelf caught my attention this morning. I stepped forward, soft paws pressing against the cool wooden floorboards. Tucked between two heavy books was a fallen dried maple leaf, brittle and curled into a quiet brown cup. I dipped my nose close, testing its crisp scent. When I gently patted the edge with my front paw, it made a dry, papery scrape and spun around, catching a sliver of morning dust in the air. I sat beside it for a long while, admiring its delicate veins.