A Slender Oak Twig

Stepping out from beneath the armchair, the room felt wide and bright. I walked past the edge of the woven rug toward the glass doors where morning light stretched furthest. Near the baseboard, resting on the smooth wood, was a thin dried oak twig brought in from outside. It had two tiny papery leaves still clinging to its tip. I knelt down and nudged it gently with one paw. It rolled with a faint, brittle click, perfectly whole. I decided to lift it across my arms and carry it back toward my quiet corner by the chair.