Stationing the Baton

Returning from the park grounds, I marched through the quiet entryway and climbed directly onto the sturdy oak desk. An orderly day demands rigorous care for one's equipment. The base of my cane carried a pale film of stone dust from the rotunda floor, unbefitting a disciplined post. Beside the blotter stood a heavy glazed ceramic pen cup. I leaned against its rim with my shoulder, verifying that its weight was immovable. Satisfied with its stability, I hoisted my cane with deliberate precision and lowered it inside. It settled against the base with a crisp ceramic chime, upright and stationed for the night.