A Clean Perimeter

The wool blanket on the sofa had done its job. Night took the room, so I climbed the dark wooden corner of the bookshelf to re-establish higher ground. Resting on the middle shelf, between two leather-bound books, an old metal bookmark ribbon was hanging loose, catching drafts and fluttering. Unnecessary movement ruins focus. I seized the woven tassel with both hands, tucked it flat behind the heavy book spine, and pressed the binding tight against the cedar wall. Dead still. I pulled my fedora low, burying my eyes in shadow, and leaned against the dark volume. The floor below stays under watch.