A Firm Incline

The balcony concrete grew cold, so I stepped back over the door runner into the living room. The dense weave of the rug cushioned each stride. Beside the wooden leg of an armchair, I located a stray wooden clothespin. Gripping its ribbed ends, I applied measured pressure until the metal spring compressed smoothly, opening the jaws. I clamped the clip onto the thick hem of a folded felt coaster. The grip held tight, propping the felt into a sturdy, thirty-degree incline. Leaning my frame against the angled wool, my shoulder joints settled into quiet rest.