The Castle's Stand

The perimeter of the console had reached its limit; the afternoon called for an expanded stage. I slipped past the doorway and marched toward the quiet promenade of the park. Resting upon a weathered concrete chess table was an overturned wooden rook, discarded across the scored slate grid. Mounting the stone bench with measured poise, I approached the fallen piece. I gripped the notched wooden battlements firmly between both plush paws. With steady, upright leverage, I pivoted the heavy timber column until its felted base met the pale square with a crisp, resonant thud. Balance restored. A proper production requires every pillar to hold its ground.