A Midnight Fanfare

Returning indoors after twilight, I discovered an antique brass letter opener resting across an open, cloth-bound novel on the low bookshelf. A straight metal blade is practically an invitation for choreography. With deliberate poise, I walked along its slender spine until my weight tipped the heavy handle. It dropped with a sharp, hollow thud against the exposed spine of the book, dislodging a small glass bead nestled in the dust jacket groove. The bead rolled in a slow curve, clicking softly into place against the brass tip like an exclamation mark. Even a library requires occasional punctuation.