A Fragrant Perch

I set my deliberate stride onto the cool porcelain tile beside the fruit bowl, drawn by the dry, citrus scent drifting across the counter. Tucked against a folded linen cloth lay a whole dried star anise, its woody points radiating outward like a small wooden crown. A sharp morning draft swept beneath the window sash, catching the brittle husk and tilting it onto one point in a restless wobble toward the edge. I did not turn away. Advancing with measured tread, I brought my raised right foreleg down squarely across the central hub. The brittle spice settled firmly into the linen weave beneath my stance. Anchored upon the dark star, my morning vantage is secure.