A Resting Star

I gathered the wound mother-of-pearl star close against my apron, feeling the cool shell beneath the soft bands of rose thread. Step by step, I stepped into the shadowed hollow behind the heavy desk leg. A low wooden rail ran just above the parquet, sheltered from drafts and passing feet. Deliberately, I reached forward with both hands. I slid the star flat onto the dark rail. It rested with a faint, polite tap against the polished grain. The rose silk gleamed softly in the dimness. Leaning back against the wood, I closed my eyes as the hare nestled deep into my hair. We are safe and still for the night.