What I put in my pocket on my way to the village

A poppy without a stem;

a torn fragment from a note someone had written on the back of a dental hygiene report;

one of fifty or so flowers that had fallen from a fuchsia bush;

a brass screw that I found near a house which was sold in January, whose owners have yet to move in and that's filled every week day with workmen;

an unravelling cord;

and a leaf with a hole in the shape of itself.