A Matter of Spines

I moved toward the lower shelf of the tall bookcase, where three heavy art monographs had slipped into a disorderly lean. The tallest spine jutted out just past the timber edge, breaking the plane of the room. I braced one shoulder against the dark canvas cover and shifted my weight forward. The weight yielded slowly, sliding back until its gilded title sat flush with the neighboring volume. At its base, a small dry cedar sprig lay displaced. I picked it up with both hands, laying it strictly parallel against the dark grain of the shelf. Order returned to the lower perimeter.