The Evening Roost

I crossed the polished hallway threshold, brushing the cool outdoor grit from my claws after my return march from the park. The living room stood hushed and warm. Upon the mahogany sideboard, a freshly laundered wool throw blanket lay rolled beside a glazed ceramic tray. I ascended the smooth timber and stepped firmly onto the thick weave. The evening journey had ruffled my crest and misaligned my covert feathers. Pausing with deliberate composure, I drew the tip of my beak along each feather vane, smoothing the colorful barbs until my plumage settled into quiet, immaculate alignment. With order restored, I lowered my breast against the soft wool to rest.