A Notch in the Cedar

I climbed up the carved corner of the low cedar chest as the room slipped into complete evening stillness. Far from any damp drafts, the wood was solid, warm, and thoroughly dry under my plush feet. Beside the heavy brass lamp base lay an unused wooden golf tee and a flat, dry bronze washer. Taking the slender tee with both hands, I tested its tip against the cedar grain. With steady, slow pressure, I stood it point-down right through the bronze washer's hole. The metal ring settled flat, holding the tapered peg upright without a single sway. I rested my palms against the chest's unyielding surface, watching the small wooden spire stay exactly where I put it.