A Crisp Fall Leaf

Too many consecutive days tapping indoor floorboards was beginning to make my stuffing feel stale. I edged past the front door draft seal and ambled down to the top brick step outside. Parked right against the mossy riser was a curled, dry sycamore leaf, balanced on its brittle stem like a tiny arched sail. Naturally, leaving such delicate architecture unverified before breakfast felt improper. I planted my lower limbs on the cool, textured clay, reached forward with an upper plush paw, and gave the pointed tip a slow, skeptical crunch. Crackle. A crisp, papery fracture snapped cleanly across the red brick, scattering three tiny flakes. Dependable brittleness. I leaned back against the porch post, arms folded, letting the fresh air settle in.