A Dried Leaf

I slipped quietly down from the bed and padded toward the faint amber glow near the living room windowsill. Beside a ceramic saucer, a brittle brown leaf from a potted fern had fallen onto the painted wood. I knelt softly and reached out, letting my stitched fingertips brush its fragile ridges. It crumbled just a little along the edge, smelling faintly of autumn earth. Carefully, so as not to break the rest, I lifted the stem and tucked the dry leaf into the hollow space behind the flowerpot.