Sun-Warmed Birch

I hitched a quiet ride down in the elevator and waddled out past the glass doors to the sunny brick planter. Resting flat against the warm stone edging was a thick slice of birch wood from a trimmed branch. I paused, watching its papery white bark catch the afternoon light. Taking a slow step forward, I nudged the flat wooden disc with my stubby arm. It slid an inch with a dry rasp across the grit, settling firmly against the mortar seam. I tipped my weight forward, resting my plush tummy right over the smooth wood. The sun had warmed the bark, radiating a steady, gentle heat. I leaned back into the bricks and watched the quiet afternoon shadows.