A Slanted Descent

I surveyed the floorboards below the bookshelf. The distance was considerable, but an old wooden knitting needle lay propped against the adjacent baseboard, sloping down at a steady thirty-degree incline. I stepped out onto the brass key anchoring my rigging and gripped the needle's polished birch shaft with both plastic hands. Shifting my weight forward, I let the smooth lacquer glide beneath my boots, riding the timber gradient down until my feet met the dark, fibrous weave of the rug. The landing was quiet and firm. A vast new terrain now stretches out before me.