Through the Dry Leaves

I squeezed past the screen door flap onto the patio. Right against the bottom stone step, the breeze had gathered a deep mound of dry oak leaves. It stretched all the way across the flagstones, blocking the way to the lawn. I paused. The curled brown edges looked stiff. Going around was not my plan. I lowered my snout, braced my plush tail against the stone, and shoved straight into the crunchy drift. Dry leaves crackled and snapped loudly around my shell. I pressed forward with steady, deliberate steps. The pile yielded, rustling in a frantic flutter before parting cleanly down the middle. I scrambled through to the clear lawn, covered in tiny leaf flakes.