A Crisp Rustle

A faint rustle drew me across the smooth floorboards. By the window, a small dry leaf had wedged itself into the groove of the sill, trembling slightly whenever air slipped past the frame. I approached slowly, pausing every few steps to watch its curled edges. Finding a sturdy hardcover book rested nearby, I stepped onto it to reach the ledge. Leaning close, I rested my front paws against the cool painted wood and nudged the leaf with the tip of my nose. It shifted with a dry scrape, quiet and still once more. I stayed right there, watching the light settle across the grain.