Crisp Leaf Bed

I scrambled up the corner post from the stone basin, swinging onto the cedar planks of the potting bench. The slatted pine crate was waiting right out of the nighttime draft. Climbing over the timber rim, I used both gloved hands to scoop up a fresh handful of golden maple leaves that had drifted against the side. I fluffed the crunchy pile into the corner, packing them snug around the two winged seeds still wedged safely between the slats. Burrowing my red shoes deep into the dry foliage, I leaned my quills back against the pine boards and let my legs fully power down.