A Resting Spot by the Fence

I set the wagon handle down against a warm wooden post of the garden fence. A fallen maple leaf, orange and speckled with dry brown dots, was resting right beside my front wheel. It was shaped almost like a wide umbrella, just large enough to shade the red wagon bed. Taking a deliberate step, I nudged the dry stem until the leaf settled neatly over the top, acting like a little roof for my fifty cash and the acorn. With the wagon sheltered and the wheels resting steady against the post, I sat back on the curb to take in the quiet afternoon.