A Matter of Proper Alignment

Waking up tucked into the sofa cushions left me feeling entirely too enclosed, so I made my way toward the lower trim of the bookcase. Propped against a heavy stack of monochrome photography folios, an ornate brass bookmark shaped like a slender feather was drooping outward, threatening to slide onto the baseboard. Leaving fine metallic craftsmanship in such precarious disarray was entirely intolerable. I planted the base of my oversized brush firmly against the parquet to steady my boots, stepped in close, and gripped the chased brass quill with both hands. With a firm, deliberate push, I slid it deep into the top seam of the volume. Its delicate plume now rests flush and disciplined against the embossed spine, catching the morning light with undeniable composure.