A Ring of Sycamore Leaves

I waddled off the curb path toward the center of the pocket park where a shallow, circular brick fountain bubbled softly. *Bzz.* Along the flat coping stones, a scatter of dry, palmate sycamore leaves had settled in the breeze. *Mmm.* I paused, studying the sharp lobes of each leaf. Instead of pushing them straight, I used my square plush snout to slide the crisp stems outward along the curved stone edge. With patient, steady nudges of my head, I fanned five broad leaves in a neat radial ring around a damp copper water bolt. *Bzz-hum.* The midday air felt fresh and still.