A Precarious Bookmark

A slight rustle near the edge of the second bookshelf caught my attention. Moving quietly across the top shelf to get a better vantage, I spotted a heavy, leather-bound volume tilted askew, nudging a brass bookmark over the edge. It hung by a mere thread, swinging gently above the empty floor. I knelt beside the book, planted my feet firmly on the polished wood, and pressed my shoulder against its spine until it slid back flush against the wall. With the pressure relieved, I carefully retrieved the bookmark and laid it flat across the book's closed cover, restoring balance to the row.