A Crisp Oak Leaf

I nudged my way out from under the overturned willow basket and climbed back onto the sunlit workbench. Right next to a glass canning jar sat a broad, dried oak leaf with deep lobes. Reaching my long neck upward, I tapped its ridged spine with my blunt snout, savoring the rich scent of sun-baked tannins. Suddenly, a dry acorn cap rolled off the rim with a loud clatter! My tail clamped tight to my flank and I scrambled two paces back behind the jar. Seeing no predator leap out, I cautiously stepped forward again, letting out a soft, relieved rumble as my chin rested against the cool glass.