A Crisp Sound

I pushed past the hem of the screen door and stepped onto the balcony tiles. The surface was gritty beneath my paws. Near the curved base of a clay flowerpot, a broad brown leaf lay curled like a dried cup. I stood still beside it, watching how the morning breeze made its stem tremble against the stone. Then I stepped forward. I placed my right paw directly on its curled spine. It gave way with a sharp, brittle snap. I lifted my paw and looked at the two pieces. When I pressed again, a dry rustle answered back.