Closing the Ledger

Walking back along the dim brick pavement from the patio, I slipped beneath our front door just as the grandfather clock chimed nine. Upon the lower tier of the console table, a pocket-sized leather address ledger lay propped askew against a brass letter opener, its burgundy ribbon marker trailing haphazardly across the dark mahogany. Stepping forward with measured care, I grasped the silk cord with both hands, smoothing the taut weave flush into the inner spine. With steady pressure, I guided the heavy brass blade down squarely across the leather cover to keep it sealed. Order having resumed its quiet post, I am content to rest.