A Steady Burn

I stepped down from the sill along the curtain hem and crossed toward the hearth. On a low iron rack lay a small brass match holder, its spring-loaded flip lid jammed open by a split wooden matchstick wedged in the hinge. I planted my boots firmly on the slate hearth, gripped the fragment with both hands, and levered it out. The brass cap snapped down with a crisp, solid strike against the ribbed striker plate. The perimeter remains quiet while the rain continues outside.