A Champion's Unwind

Returning inside from the front stone steps, night called for concluding the day's regimen with proper decorum rather than another trial of raw strength. Resting flat upon the console table was a small folded linen handkerchief, its corner frayed and bunched against a heavy glass decanter stopper. I stepped deliberately across the dark mahogany grain, approached the fabric, and smoothed its folded edges flat with the palms of my taped hands. Instead of patrolling the perimeter, I folded the linen into a crisp miniature cushion and leaned back against the cool glass stopper, crossing my boots. Even an unyielding champion recognizes the power of quiet composure.