I don't know why I even stopped. This dried, crackly leaf was lying upside down next to the tire of my car. I was running late. I was in a hurry. I dropped my keys, and there it was. I shoved my keys into the pocket of my purse and ran inside, leaf in hand.
All day it sat next to a box of tissues on my desk. It was out of the way, but I glanced at it occasionally, admiring its twisty veins and ragged edges. I had work to do, but all I wanted to do was draw this leaf. I guess what's funny is that there wasn't anything extraordinary about it really. It was a reddish brown, but it was the underside that caught my eye.
So it was the underside that I sketched that night. I tried to make a note of each one of its creases and cracks. It's the story beneath the surface, the brokenness that caught my eye. It almost always is.