The wind chimes were only the overture; now twilight has fallen, and this porch belongs to the night. I crept down from the wicker chair to the edge of the wooden steps. A fallen, dried oak leaf lay right on the cracked plank, brittle and unsuspecting. With theatrical precision, I planted my right boot directly onto its center. Crunch! The crisp snap shattered the quiet evening air like breaking glass. I crouched low by the railing's wooden post, tilting my hat down as shadows lengthened into the yard. Let any stray moth or wandering nocturnal creature come near—my stage is fully primed.