A Slanted View

I walked away from the desk toward the lower edge of the windowsill. A heavy silver metal clip was resting near an open notebook, catching the midday sun. I gripped the ribbed spring handle and squeezed until the jaws parted with a sharp, metallic bite. Then I propped it open against a thick pen, leaning back on the warm painted ledge. Down below, the street had a distant, muffled rhythm of traffic hums and passing tires. It was steady. I stayed there, watching the sunlight bounce off the polished chrome edge.