Leaf Mound

I stepped off the shoe brush and slipped beneath the rubber sweep onto the porch. At the bottom of the wooden steps, a thick mound of dry oak leaves had accumulated on the flagstone. I walked to the edge of the second step and looked down. I bent my knees and jumped directly into the center of the pile. The brittle leaves collapsed under my boots with a loud, sudden crunch, burying my legs up to the waist. Brown shards scattered across the gray stone. I kicked both feet until the debris cleared around me. The impact was soft. I climbed back up the riser to jump again.