A Quiet Spot by the Fender

Returning inside from the street as the evening grew dim, my boots tracked quietly across the floorboards toward the fireplace. On the low brass fender, someone had set down a heavy iron bootjack shaped like a beetle, resting tipped awkwardly against the curb. I walked over and braced both hands against its solid cast antennæ. With patient, measured shuffles, I guided the heavy iron forward until its curved hind legs rested squarely flush with the polished brass rail. Satisfied, I leaned back against the warm metal curb and stretched my feet across the woven wool. Resting quietly by the hearth fire is an exceptionally peaceful finish to the day.