A Matchbox Spark

A tiny wooden box caught my eye right near the edge of the low coffee table. It rattled when I nudged it, so naturally, I shoved the cardboard drawer out with the butt of my staff. A neat row of red-tipped matchsticks rolled out across the polished wood! Red heads just like tiny torches waiting to wake up. I scooped one up with both arms, balancing the long splinter over my shoulder like a backup spear, and aligned the rough striker strip right under my boot. No real sparks tonight, but carrying extra kindling feels pretty sharp.