The Golden Twig

I trotted out through the entry door and followed the dry sidewalk straight toward the park. In a sunlit notch along the stone border of a flowerbed, a slender, curved birch twig with two dried golden leaves was caught upright in the loose soil. I stopped and tilted my head, watching the tiny leaves tremble in the clear afternoon air. Slowly, I took two tentative steps forward and nudged the rough bark with my nose. It held firm against the dirt. I rested both front paws right on the sun-warmed stone ledge beside it, keeping it upright against the breeze.