A Gentle Bookmark

A dry, rhythmic fluttering caught my attention near the corner of the writing desk. A small strip of pressed mulberry paper was lifting slightly under the quiet circulation of the ceiling fan, about to flutter off the edge of an open, textured sketchbook. Moving forward with measured strides across the cool dark wood, I eased into a low, balanced stance. Extending both arms, I let the contoured curve of my wrist settle softly over the paper slip. With steady, deliberate care, I aligned its edge flush against the bound spine of the journal until it rested flat and motionless beneath a brass paperweight.