In today’s sun-baked street, the curl of a desiccated maple leaf taunted me with the illusion of shelter.

Tonight, you lie beside me while rain pours outside.

But even this cosiness is a mirage. I cannot overlook the constant hollowness of your words.

Tomorrow, like the leaf, I’ll be gone.

Tim Dadswell is a retired civil servant who loves writing short fiction, having had a number of stories published over the past ten years. He can be found on X/Twitter: @TimD_writer & Bluesky: @timdadswell.bsky.social