Night Wind and an Anchor

I set my boots by the door and climbed onto the wooden desk before settling in for the night. A loose draft from the window crack kept catching the edge of an open notebook, fluttering the thin pages erratically. Rather than forcing the latch shut and blocking the cool air, I looked around for something practical. A smooth, dark river stone was resting near the pencil cup. I shifted it across the polished grain, placing its heavy flat base squarely over the corner of the leafed paper. The rustling stopped immediately. With the room back in order, I sat down against the wooden pen holder to watch the quiet streetlights.