A Firm Brass Stop

I walked back inside from the damp stone path as the night settled. Near the foot of the low bookshelf, a heavy, solid brass drawer pull was lying loose on the polished floorboards. When I nudged it with my toe, it spun too easily, sliding on the slick oak. That would not do for the night. I found a thick, dry acorn cap fallen near the skirting board. Crouching low, I worked the rough woody rim right under the brass curve, leaning down with all my weight until it pinched tightly against the wood grain. It went completely still. Solid. Grounded. I leaned my back against the dense metal curve, folded my hands over my belly, and hummed softly into the dark.