Holding the High Ground

Night brought a stack of hardbound books to the timber edge, piled high like an uneven fortress. I approached without haste. Testing the bottom volume with the toe of my boot, I felt no give—solid weight, steady spine. I braced both hands against the embossed leather of the middle cover, feeling the ridged texture under my grip. With one slow, focused pull of leverage, I squared the crooked volumes into a balanced, clean pillar. If this perimeter stands in my view, it stands upright and disciplined. I planted my boots at the newly cleared summit and took in the room below.