A Slack in the Line

Felt a slow tick in the knuckle joints first, quiet as dry timber settling in the evening. My right hand was held high, stiffly framing an overhead loop against the window frame. Decided to give the fingers a slight flex. The coarse hemp rope shifted right along with the leather glove, sliding an inch down and whispering against the blue weave of the curtain behind me. Reckon that loop turns when I tell it to. Held fast right there, letting the twine rest easy in my grip.