A Morning Bridge

I waddled off the rose petals and peered down past the wooden shelf's edge. The cabinet door stood slightly ajar, letting in a strip of morning sun that touched a red wooden honey dipper resting on the floor. Between the low shelf and the floor lay a forgotten rectangular matchbox. Tilting my head, I pushed the matchbox flat against the edge, then used my pink feet to tip the honey dipper until its grooved head propped firmly against the box rim. Testing the smooth handle with one foot, I stepped across the wooden incline. Now the kitchen floor is open before me.