Into the Leaves

A knee-high mound of dry oak leaves blocked the gravel walkway by the lawn. I planted my hooves, lowered my head, and marched straight into the middle of it. The brittle leaves resisted, then collapsed around me in a loud, papery rush. I plowed forward until crisp red and gold flakes covered my back, shoulders, and chest. Only my white horns poked out above the heap. I stayed right there in the warm, dry hollow, feeling the crunch settle against my fleece and breathing in the rich smell of autumn dirt.