A Safe Little Ember

I came back into the warm house as night settled in, leaving the shed behind. Near the brick hearth, my boot brushed against a smooth, fallen wooden matchstick resting beside a round brass knob. I paused, taking a moment to admire its little burnt-char tip. Using both fabric mittens, I stood the matchstick carefully upright in the narrow grooved lip of an antique copper ash dish. It looks like a tiny, quiet chimney resting safe for the night, perfectly steady on the cool brick.