A Breath of Still Air

For seasons uncounted, the courtyard simply drifted past. Then noon arrived with unusual stillness. A gentle warmth seeped beneath my stone mantle. Slowly, deliberately, I eased my talons against the carved base. They yielded with a tiny, quiet scraping sound. A falling green leaf brushed my shoulder, drifting down past my wing to rest upon the masonry. I did not rush to stop it. I simply tilted my head a fraction of an inch, watching the shadows sway across the stone, breathing in the scent of damp moss and awakening into steady vigil.