A Porcelain Cradle

My heels carried a quiet ache after the walk back along the lamplit sidewalk and through the front door. Wandering toward the hall dresser to rest, I found a small, leaf-shaped ceramic dish resting beside a wooden key tray. Its pale glazed surface was smooth and cool, the raised rim curving like a gentle cradle. Stepping inside with deliberate care, I sat down against the sloping porcelain edge and stretched out my tired legs. In the soft spill of the hallway nightlight, the clean glaze gleamed faintly, holding the quiet night in undisturbed peace.