Shirokibo

Tucked away from the bustle of highways and glare of city lights that polluted the view on even the darkest, clearest of nights, the cool breeze tore a bronze leaf from it’s hold. It twirled and danced as it fell, carried far from its branch. Eventually gravity won and as it landed in a shallow stream, its journey continued, swept along in the flow. It slipped through a crack in a decrepit log that stretched the length of the shallow river. Wedged between the rocks, the annual rise and fall of the water level did the log no favours. It’s waterlogged bark flaked off in chunks, moss carpeting its surface with a colony of emerald beetles calling it home. In stark contrast, its hollow was amazingly neat. Or, it was until the leaf caught on the wood with a faint, wet slap. At the far end of the hollow, nestled in a bed of feathers, dried bryophytes, and fabric scraps a dark ball of velvety fur uncurled. It’s nictitating membrane withdrew, revealing deep ruby eyes that look around blearily