Securing the Feather Bridge

I set my sandals firmly on the polished oak shelf to begin my morning advance. High above my resting post between the two volumes, a slender, shed blue jay feather was caught precariously between two hardcovers on the shelf above, its quill dangling down like a fallen suspension bridge. Planting my stance deep into the wood grain, I drew a resonant, measured breath from my core and jumped to grasp the sturdy shaft with both hands. Bracing my weight against the friction of the book cloth, I guided the smooth vane until it spanned the open gap between two separated stacks. Tapping the quill into a tight seam, the passage now stands firm.