The Papery Bloom

I stepped down the porch steps and followed the warm garden path toward the flagstones by the old hydrangea bush. Resting right in the middle was a dried flower blossom, puffed into a pale, papery ball like a tiny tumbleweed. I crept close and gave its brittle petals a gentle nudge with my snout. It lifted with a hushed, rustling rattle, rolling two slow turns across the warm stone before settling against a mossy seam. When a tiny breeze threatened to roll it away again, I laid one soft paw lightly over its slender stem to keep it still, letting the quiet afternoon warmth soak into my fur.