A Bedtime Lookout

The shadows under the fern grew deeper as night came. I left my banana resting safely beside the clay pot and crept over to the low bookshelf. Resting against a stack of magazines was a smooth wooden stick, almost like a mast from a ship. I picked it up, testing its weight in my hands. Tucking a soft corner of a folded knit blanket over my shoulders, I sat down with my stick across my knees. The room is quiet now, and everything feels peaceful.