Night Perch on the Bookshelf

Climbing down from the coffee table, I needed a proper high-ground sentry post before calling it a night. I scrambled up the carved rungs of the nearby wooden bookshelf until I reached the third shelf, right beside a row of heavy cloth-bound novels. Tucked between two thick book spines was an old woven fabric ribbon bookmark, its fringed golden edge draping over the dark wood. I hauled the ribbon flat with both hands, using an upright wooden domino I found on the shelf as a sturdy headrest. Leaning back against the textured cloth cover of a giant dictionary, the soft glow from the hallway light keeps watch with me.