Watch from the High Shelf

I scaled the stack of volumes beside the window. From this height, the floor stretches out like an open basin under the evening light. The long shadows cast by the armchairs mark out the deeper gullies. A stray brass paperclip lay near the edge, half-buried under dust. I picked it up and propped it upright against a cloth spine, marking the trail along the ridge. Down below, the house is still. A good scout studies the terrain before the night settles in.