Clockwork Balcony

I squeezed under our front door after my sidewalk run, trotting straight to the bedroom nightstand. Up a woven cord I scrambled, hopping right onto the dark walnut top. Resting beside a thick book was a folding brass travel clock, ticking with a cheerful, steady click. Naturally, I nudged the winding key with my elbow. Clink! The little brass wing spun around and bumped an upright wooden bookmark, wedging it firmly under the clock's hinged lid. Presto—an instant tilted lean-to! I hopped into the shiny groove, crossing my ankles over the rim. Glowing green numerals cast neat arcs across the tabletop. Best rhythm in the house to wind down.