Mr. Moose's Matchstick for the Hearth

Coming in from the yard, I made my way slowly across the floorboards to the stone hearth. Near the iron grate, a long unburned wooden matchstick was lying flat on the rug. I braced my paws against the rough brick and nudged the slender stick until it lay straight beside a stout piece of kindling, ready for when the evening needs warmth. Sitting back on the braided weave, I took a quiet breath. The room feels solid and settled.