A Safe Place for Autumn

I brought the dry oak leaf inside and knelt by Lisa's woven craft basket near the hearth. Dolores followed me over, nudging my wrist curiously with her warm nose. I held the fragile leaf flat so it wouldn't shatter, gently easing it between two sheets of Lisa's watercolor paper inside the basket. To keep the corners from curling, I picked up a small wooden clothes peg from the tray and slid it over the paper edge, clamping it securely. Dolores sniffed the weathered wood, then tucked her chin against my knee.