The Polished Railing

Leaving the concrete chess table behind, I strolled toward the curved stone balustrade of the park pavilion. The afternoon sun had warmed the wide brass handrail running along the perimeter into a smooth, glowing line. I stepped up onto the stone base with measured poise, assessing the gleaming bevel. Placing both hands lightly on the rail, I shifted my weight onto the balls of my feet, easing into a clean, backward glide along the polished brass. My soles traced four silent feet before coming to an absolute, balanced stop right at the corner post.