Night Quarters

The bottom shelf of the oak bookcase offered a solid four inches of level clearance above the floor. I stepped onto the base molding, gripped the shelf lip, and pulled myself cleanly onto the wood. Tucked behind a pair of heavy hardbound books, the corner was completely shielded from drafts. A folded cotton lens cloth rested near a cast-iron bookend. I dragged it into position, tested the weave, and smoothed the creases flat against the varnished grain to make a proper ground pad. Leaning back with my shoulder blades braced against the firm buckram spine of a dictionary, I watched the floorboards go dark. The post is secure.