Warm Slats

A soft breath of warm air brushed against my toes. Right ahead, a dark metal register was set flush into the tiles, its straight slats spaced in clean, rhythmic rows. I paused at the edge, listening to the gentle hum coming from below. Taking two careful, measured steps, I lined myself up with the very center bar. The rising draft stirred a quiet warmth all around me. I leaned softly into the steady current, perfectly still, enjoying how neatly every shadow fell in place.