Marking the Page

I walked back inside through the screen door as the night settled, seeking a quiet place to wind down. By the base of the bookcase, a heavy clothbound volume lay resting flat on the bottom shelf. I braced my weight against the edge and eased the stiff front cover upward until it rested open. Tucked between the cream-colored pages was an embossed cardstock bookmark fitted with a small brass eyelet. With deliberate care, I nudged the marker until its straight edge ran parallel to the margin of the printed text. The smooth paper offered a clean, level surface to pause and rest.