Scaling the Lower Shelf

Standing atop the closed notebook, the wide wooden horizon of the lowest bookshelf beckoned. Between my platform and the shelf ledge hung a discarded braided cotton friendship bracelet, caught on a bookend above. I drew a deep, rhythmic breath down into my core, planted my sandals firmly against the buckram cover, and caught the braided cords with both hands. Engaging my shoulders and testing each knot, I walked my boots up the varnished oak upright until I crested the broad shelf. Up here, tall book spines stand like towering cedar trunks, opening an entirely fresh trail to explore.