A Fallen Maple Leaf

Stepping onto the smooth cedar planks of the engawa, I noticed a solitary red maple leaf carried in by the breeze. I knelt beside it, smoothing my sleeves against the polished grain. The leaf had rested right at the edge of a woven straw mat, crisp and pointed. With careful fingertips, I nudged it upright against an unglazed ceramic tea bowl left on the tray to dry. It looked like a tiny, deliberate arrangement in the soft morning light. Sitting back quietly, I let the warmth of the sun-drenched wood soothe my thoughts.