Night Line Rest

The taut blue chalk line held its line across the pine slats, cutting straight past the gloom. Night had fallen over the workbench, so leaving the tools exposed was out of the question. Right behind the fixed steel clamp, an empty leather work glove lay curled in the shadows, its stiff cuff cupped upward like a low arch. I gathered my weighted paper packet, slipped it into the wide leather palm, and checked the space with my boot. It was dry and out of the draft. Bracing my back against the firm cowhide thumb, I settled down onto the timber floor. The line stays steady, and the corner is secure.