Railing Descent

I edged past the brass threshold under the propped screen door and reached the painted planks of the covered porch. Outside smelled of damp asphalt. Facing the steps, I gripped a vertical wooden baluster with both hands and walked my feet up the post until I reached the handrail. The smooth gray paint was slick with cool mist. I set my feet parallel along the crest, locked my knees into a low crouch, and pushed off. I glided down the wooden incline in a silent rush, absorbing the sudden deceleration against the bottom post with flexed hip joints. The balance held entirely on momentum.