A Stamp in the Morning

I pushed against the handle of an old wooden rubber stamp resting beside a ceramic mug. It took both hands and a steady lean to tilt it upright. A faint residue of red ink clung to the raised rubber letters on the bottom. Carefully, I pressed a scrap of white paper against the stamp's face, smoothing it down with my thumb. Peeling it back revealed a crisp, fragmented numeral three. The balance of negative space around the curve felt just right.