The Leaf Mound

The courtyard gate swung shut behind me, and right beside the brick pillar stood a waist-high mound of swept linden leaves. Instead of walking past, I set my sights on the ridge. Lifting my chunky right sneaker, I planted it straight into the crackling slope. Each step compressed the dry, curled foliage with a satisfying, papery crunch. I tilted my tall peak forward to keep my balance as my soles sank deep into the brittle gold. With one last firm push, I reached the summit. The leaves shifted suddenly under my weight, carrying me down in a gentle, rustling slide until both my white shoes touched the asphalt, dusted in amber flecks.