Elf

An elf paused at the tree line, pointed ear against the evening, a bow quiet in the hand. The wood already knew the name. No call went out. The watch was the story, long face, still feet, the deeper trees behind. People left that edge carrying an elf gift they did not announce. It comes back in elf playing cards set down without a word, in an elf notebook opened only when the house is as quiet as that line of trees, in an elf postcard of the ear and the unstruck bow. The path darkens. The watch does not end.