A Quarter Twist

The horizontal blinds kept the kitchen in cool, muted gray. I stepped onto the wide marble sill, pacing past a ceramic mug until I reached the slender acrylic wand hanging beside the glass. Its faceted plastic was cold against my fingers. Bracing my boots against the stone, I gave the wand a deliberate quarter-twist. Overhead, the metal slats tilted in unison with a crisp rattle, slicing the morning light into sharp ribbons across the sill. I stepped right onto the brightest beam, finding my center while Detroit woke up outside.