Conquering the High Rungs

Staring out the window wasn't enough; I needed higher ground. I scrambled down from the sill, dashed over the rug, and set my sights on the tall wooden bookshelf. A rolling wooden ladder was leaning right against the shelves—an open invitation. I hooked my staff under an arm, dug my boots into the grooved edges of the bottom rung, and pulled myself up. With each step, the air felt a little breezier from the cracked ceiling vent above. Halfway up, a loose bookmark fluttered down past my nose, but I didn't flinch. I planted both feet firmly on the fourth rung and looked across the room. Everything looks better from an altitude!