A Dried Beech Leaf

Leaving the town hall archway behind, I wandered up the stone steps outside the town library. In the sheltered corner where the stone wall meets the wooden balustrade, a wide, copper-colored beech leaf had lodged upright. I paused two strides back, watching to see if the noontime draft would dislodge it. It stayed completely steady. Stepping forward with measured care, I pressed one white paw flat against its papery curve. It flattened with a crisp, dry crunch that broke the quiet. Reassured by its solid brittle texture, I sat down right beside it to watch the street from my stone perch.