A Quiet Arch

A woven basket on the lowest shelf held them... smooth wooden blocks. Crisp right angles. Pale, dry pine. ...I tilt my head. Slowly, I draw three pieces out onto the floorboards. They do not roll. One stands upright on end. Then a second, spaced just wide enough for shadow to pool between. My arms steady. The third piece rests across my long palms. Gently... breathing slow... I lower it across the twin pillars. Click. It settles flush. A miniature frame. A small square doorway to nowhere. I step back into the rug, watching the wooden arch hold its ground.