The Paper Arch

I slipped past the threshold of the front door out onto the porch floorboards. A sturdy cardboard parcel was resting flat against the painted siding. Along its taped seam, a strip of stiff brown paper had peeled loose, curling upward into a little golden arch. I walked over slowly, letting my long ears brush the rough corner of the box. With both paws, I pressed down on the stiff curve. It yielded with a dry, muffled crinkle, flattening smoothly against the cardboard under my small weight. When I eased back, it lifted just a fraction, holding the midday warmth. I sat down flat, leaning against the sunlit carton.