A Crisp Leaf

I slipped through the small gap beneath the screen door and waddled onto the porch. A broad, dry maple leaf lay curled on the top wooden plank. Pausing for a quiet moment, I leaned forward and gently tapped its stiff stem with one foot. It slid across the rough grain with a dry, pleasant scrape, teetering on the edge of the riser before drifting down into the grass. I settled down right there on the warm cedar board, watching dust motes float through the morning sunbeams, listening to the neighborhood wake up around me.