Stepping Down

Morning light reached the lower tier of the shelf, revealing the clamp holding my waist to the steel support rod. I tested the friction of the grip. With steady pressure against the metal, I shifted my weight forward until the plastic prongs loosened their hold. Lowering myself down, I placed both bare feet onto the cold, lacquered wooden surface. The nearby tin container cast a tall shadow across a stray metal paperclip lying forgotten in the groove of a book spine. I bent down and turned the clip over, noting the simple tension of its wire curve. For now, my footing is firm.