A Fluted Anchorage

My bow glided steadily away from the damp tiles toward the low shadow cast beneath the refrigerator. Across the pale linoleum lay an inverted metal crown cap, its fluted perimeter resting like a scalloped basin under the afternoon light. Maintaining an unhurried, measured headway, I steered directly toward its serrated edge. My stem made firm contact with the crimped metal, producing a dry, metallic chime against the flooring. With deliberate momentum, I nudged the disc an inch forward until it wedged securely against the dark rubber skirting, forming an unyielding mooring buffer. Anchored within the appliance's steady, cooling draft, my four funnels remained upright and unperturbed.