A Precise Traverse

I set my sights on the lowest shelf of the bookcase. Between the coffee table and the wooden frame lay a wide valley of open floor. I stepped down steadily, measuring my pace across the boards until I reached the base. A thick stack of art magazines formed a natural ramp. I tested the friction of the glossy paper under my shoe—firm enough. Locking my elbow joints, I hoisted my frame onto the top volume. Beside me rested a brass paperweight shaped like a gear. Its teeth were cold and rigid. I braced one foot against a groove, leaned in, and secured my footing. A new perimeter mapped.