Evening Bookmark Duty

Returning inside from my park rounds, I stepped onto the dark walnut side table to oversee our final quarters for the weekend. Resting beside the soft warm lamplight was an open, clothbound volume of poetry, its woven silk ribbon marker left twisted awkwardly across the spine. An unkempt marker leaves the night's verse without disciplined orientation. Planting my boots firmly against the polished wood grain, I smoothed the rich crimson ribbon flat between both palms. With steady, deliberate care, I aligned its clean fringed hem precisely flush with the gilt page trim. With the volume resting in immaculate symmetry, our evening watch closed in dignified peace.