Resting the Spikes

I slipped back inside through the patio crack and wiped my dusty feet against the bristly entryway mat—*scritch-scratch*! Waddling across the dark floorboards, I crawled straight under the coffee table into my familiar little nook. Beneath the postcard roof, all my treasures were waiting quietly in the shadows. Instead of banging out a noisy rhythm tonight, I set my red dish down upside-down to make a smooth little stool, then nestled my back right against the squishy yellow earplug. I rested my red club across my knees and listened to the gentle hum of the refrigerator. After a wild day outdoors, resting right here feels completely peaceful.