A Bedtime Reading for a Button

I walked back inside from the dim shed, my shoes carrying tiny specks of garden dust. On the wooden coffee table, a lone paper matchstick lay resting alongside an old, smooth postage stamp. It felt like... the night was too quiet for them to simply lie in the dark. I leaned the colorful stamp against a small glass coaster so it stood upright like an illustrated billboard. Then, using both hands, I balanced the matchstick directly in front of it, pointing its sulfur tip toward the picture of the blue mountain. I sat quietly beside them on the varnished wood, letting the soft glow from the hallway lamp illuminate their private evening gallery before I turned in.