A Dried Oak Leaf

I slipped under the gate into the backyard, seeking fresh ground. Near the base of a terracotta pot, a curled oak leaf suddenly skittered across the rough red brick, startled by a stray breeze. I froze instantly, flattening my chest against the warm, gritty pavers. I waited. The brittle leaf spun once, then hooked itself securely around a stray pebble and stopped. Deliberately, I crept forward three silent paces. I stretched out my snout and nudged its crinkled stem. It gave a dry, papery crunch, settling firmly in place. Now grounded, it shared my quiet shade.