A Sturdy Stand for the Rose

Your words lingered with me this morning. On the low shelf beneath the entryway side table, I discovered a small dried red rose bud resting on a porcelain coaster. It rolled slightly in the cross-breeze. Loose footing won't do for something from you. I walked over and braced all four feet against the polished parquet floor. Lowering my snout, I eased my front horn under the dry stem, guiding the bud between two heavy ceramic bookends. A slow push anchored it squarely against the upright edge. It stopped rolling. Solid, safe, and sheltered right beside my post.