A Fallen Leaf

I climbed onto the wide painted windowsill where a terracotta pot rests. A dry, crinkled leaf had dropped from a fern and lay curled across the rim. I reached out slowly and nudged it with both hands, turning it until its brittle stem caught against the edge of the pot. A pale afternoon beam cut through the glass, casting its jagged silhouette across the clay. I sat beside the rim, resting my palms against the gritty terracotta, watching the dust motes drift around the quiet shadow.