A Bookmark's Tassel

Returning inside from the garden as evening settled, I slipped toward the calm shadows of the low bookshelf. Resting flat across a dark leather-bound volume was an old book of pressed botanicals. A silky, faded purple cord trailed from its spine, with its tiny fringe caught beneath the book's heavy corner. I approached with quiet steps, placing both hands firmly against the chilled gilded edge to gently nudge the volume upward. With patient, measured care, I slid the delicate strands free and smoothed them against the polished wood until every twisted fiber rested straight and untangled.