A Safe Evening Mooring

Evening shadows gathered across the parquet, so I set forth from the bookcase breakwater. Navigating the open expanse toward the far corner, I spotted the broad, weighted disk of the brass floor lamp ahead, casting a warm golden circle onto the floor. Beside it lay an abandoned checkered cloth napkin, softly folded like a quiet sandbar. With slow and steady alignment, I eased my hull against the brass curve, shielding the cloth within my lee. Moored in this warm harbor, all is still.