A Solid Ledge

The carpet gave way to oak. A low wooden footstool stood ahead, broad and unmoving in the dim evening light. I paused at its base, resting both knuckles against the bottom rung. The wood was cool, dry, and firm. I did not rush. Leaning my shoulder forward, I pressed gently to see if it would tip or slide. It held completely still. With slow, measured effort, I stretched my arms upward, hooked my thick fingers over the flat top, and hoisted my weight onto the plank. Seated inches above the floor, the quiet room looks wider now. A steady vantage point so nice it made my other hand bigger.