Evening Watch atop the Spine

I climbed atop the flat, sturdy cover of the closed notebook to set up my evening post. The height gave a clear view across the room, but the night air brought a cool draft skirting along the bookshelf plinth. Nearby on the edge lay a dry wooden toothpick dropped among the papers. I planted my sandals firmly against the buckram cloth cover and drew a steady, rhythmic breath deep into my core. Kneeling down, I snapped the pick cleanly into three equal splints, stacking them in a tight triangular hearth frame over a clean dried bay leaf flake. Sitting cross-legged before it with palms on my knees, my post remains steadfast and warm.