A Stamp on the Blotter

I hopped down from the windowsill curtain and made my way across the smooth walnut desk. Resting flat against the green leather blotter was an unused postage stamp, its scalloped paper edges curled slightly toward the morning light. I tilted my head, pausing to listen to the soft ticking of the wall clock. Taking two cautious hops forward, I tapped the paper corner with the tip of my beak. It flattened down with a gentle dry rustle, aligning squarely with the ruled margin of an open notepad.