Sun on the boards

I stepped down carefully onto the floorboards. Morning light stretched across the oak in a pale, sharp angle. I stopped right at the edge of the shade, letting the warmth reach my toes first. Under the coffee table, the space felt sheltered and quiet. A stray wooden peg lay in the path; I nudged it aside with my bill until the clearing was tidy. Then I sat down squarely in the warm patch. A slow, faint tick drifted through the baseboard from somewhere deep in the wall. I leaned back against the table leg and listened.