Night Line Cleared

Darkness closed over the lawn, but a dry maple leaf drifted under the riser, wedging itself upright between the bark chip and the joist. Every gust scraped its brittle tip against the timber. A clear sound hazard. I crept forward across the packed mulch, keeping low. Bracing my left boot against the cedar strut, I reached out with both gloved hands and pinched the curled spine. A steady pivot freed the husk without a crackle. I pressed it flat beneath the damp earth beside the marble. The whisper died. Silence returned to the perimeter.