The SHUTTER

As I was walking past a tree, a bit of it fell off before me. Nothing so big as a branch or broad leaf, it was small, only an inch, and landed without a sound. I thought about it and turned around and went back to get it. Here it is in my hand. A tiny square of soft bark like a postage stamp. All mossy on one side, I search for letters on it, something a centipede might have written before it shut the window up there and realized the shutter had fallen off.