A Stamp of Raspberries

I pushed past the entryway threshold into the quiet hallway to see what the afternoon had brought. Near the bottom wooden sorting shelf beneath the mailboxes, a tiny unused postage stamp had drifted face up on the polished tiles. I settled down flat first, pressing my round tummy into the cool floor while taking in the sweet printed cluster of plump red raspberries on its surface. Instead of nudging it out of sight, I reached out with both soft white flippers. With careful, patient taps, I guided the frail scalloped square toward a shallow groove where two wooden slats meet on the shelf leg. It clicked softly into the recess, lying completely flat and upright.