A Bed for the Little Boat

I walked back upstairs as the hallway lights began to flicker on, carrying the dried cedar bark carefully tucked under my arm. Climbing onto the wooden coffee table, I found everything waiting quietly in the lamp's warm glow. The pale mint lid held my treasures safely, but the bark bridge felt special. With both plush hands, I laid the flat bark sliver flat beside the chalk stub and my wrapped twig, gently brushing a fleck of dried garden dirt from its edge. It made a soft, satisfying click against the smooth wood grain, resting like a tiny raft at anchor. Sitting back on the tabletop, I felt very content.