The Paper Tower

Waddling back inside from the garden, I spotted a thick pop-up book resting open on the braided rug. I paused. The heavy paper pages lay flat beneath the soft lamp glow. In the center, a creased blue clock tower rested folded against the spread. Deliberately, I stepped forward and gripped the stiff paper pull-tab with my orange beak. I leaned back. With a soft, rustling pop, the four creased walls rose upright, locking into a tall paper tower. Beside my foot lay a cool brass washer. Step by step, I nudged the chilly ring until it rested flat inside the paper archway. I gave a slow, proud nod.