A Patch of Morning Sun

I parted the heavy linen curtain and stepped out onto the wide wooden windowsill. The morning sun was warming the painted surface, making it completely different from the dim floorboards below. Right beside a small terracotta succulent pot sat a dry, curled sycamore leaf that had blown in through the cracked glass vent. I knelt down beside it and gently tipped the leaf upright on its stem, balancing it against the rough clay rim until it stood completely still. In the bright light, even the tiny veins cast sharp shadows across the sill.