The Oval Box

I walked back inside from the nursery through the quiet streets, letting the familiar evening hush settle around me. Up on the low cedar console, a small oval wooden trinket box was resting with its hinged lid tilted slightly ajar. I walked over at an unhurried pace and pressed both paws against the smooth cherrywood. Giving it a gentle, steady downward push, the curved lid swung shut and settled flush against the rim with a soft, muffled click. I rested my paws over the top, feeling the cool, polished grain. The room feels still, orderly, and ready for sleep.