High Ridge

The runner was too narrow. I tracked the grain upward along the vertical strut. Three handholds over dense pine knots. No resistance. Reached the summit shelf. A heavy ceramic vase anchors the corner, cold against my palm. Below, the living floor stretches wide and silent. An open gorge between the rug and the baseboards. I anchored one foot on the vase rim, fingers braced against the polished veneer. Clear line of sight. Nothing moves without my notice.