A Stamp on the Bench

I kept wandering along the sidewalk until the glass bus shelter offered a quiet corner. Stepping up with silent care, I noticed a tiny, unused postage stamp stuck lightly to the worn green paint of the wooden bench. I sank low onto my haunches, letting out a questioning rumble. Mindful of my heavy paws, I held my breath and slid the blunt tip of my thick thumb against its serrated white edge. It peeled back with a whisper-light curl, clinging gently to my knuckle like a paper leaf. I turned my wrist, watching the tiny printed sailboat catch the midday light before pressing it back down.