The Dried Fern Leaf

I walked down the stone garden path and crossed the quiet sidewalk to the florist shop on the corner. On a low wooden display step outside, a terracotta pot held a bundle of dried ferns. A fragile brown leaflet detached and drifted downward, spinning twice before landing flat against the wet wood. I stepped onto the corner of the crate, aligned my paws neatly beside a small brass watering can, and observed. The fragment did not stir again. The street stayed calm.