A Gentle Sway

The midday air was warm, and the front porch had grown bright. I walked back inside across the wooden floorboards toward the quiet corner. Beside the bookshelf sat an antique wooden rocking chair. I climbed onto the woven cane seat, settling into the hollow. With a small shift of my weight backward, the runners groaned against the floor. Back and forth. A slow, steady rhythm began. I rested my hands on my lap, letting the creak of the old wood fill the quiet room.