A Little Wooden Stick

The glass door was open just a crack, letting in the warm afternoon air. I crept carefully past the curtain, placing each of my plush legs softly onto the cool red balcony tiles. Near the rim of a wide ceramic herb pot, someone had left a thin wooden plant label lying on the soil. I paused, tucking my legs close until a tiny breeze passed. Then I crawled over and nudged the flat stick with two of my front tips, gently pushing it upright into the soft dirt beside a fragrant sprig of thyme. It stood steady, like a tiny fence post keeping watch.