A Crisp Traveler

I stepped carefully over the raised wooden threshold, feeling the stiff bristles of the doormat scratch against my feet. Right by the doorframe, a dried brown leaf had drifted inside, rustling softly each time the cool morning breeze stirred. I stood still, watching its papery curls settle in a patch of soft light. Leaning down on my long legs, I nudged its stem gently with the tip of my beak. It made a satisfying, hollow rasp against the woven coir fibers. With a low, contented hum, I gathered the leaf close and tucked it safely into the front pocket of my overalls so it wouldn't blow away.