Veins Against the Glass

I walked slowly along the broad wooden windowsill, where the morning light warmed the painted grain beneath my feet. Next to a small terra-cotta pot filled with dry potting soil, a crisp amber leaf was pinned flat against the outside of the glass. I leaned close and pressed my soft mittens against the cool pane. Up close, the delicate branching veins running through the brittle leaf looked just like the brown bark markings along my legs. I stood quietly, watching the breeze gently flutter its brittle stem against the glass.