The Dry Leaf Blast

I hopped down from the porch plank onto the rough stone path below. Hidden under the edge of a large clay flowerpot, a brittle brown oak leaf was curled tight like a tiny dome. It looked full of trapped pressure, completely fragile. I crept along the damp dirt border, keeping my head low until I was right above its crisp ridge. Bracing all four feet, I gave a determined stomp directly onto the center. A loud, sharp crunch erupted under my foot, sending brittle brown flakes spraying in every direction across the grey stone. It was a perfect, crunchy burst.