A Crisp Rustle

I pushed past the cracked screen door and stepped out onto the sunlit porch planks. A curled oak leaf skipped across the wood with a quiet, scraping chatter. I paused, tilting my head to listen as the wind passed. Once the boards grew still again, I crept forward step by step. I reached out and rested my front paw against the brittle edge. It yielded with a sharp, tiny crunch under my fluff. I stayed sitting beside it, watching small specks of dust drift through the warm morning light.