A Thermal Draft

I set my footbones across the gaps of a wooden floor grate. A faint, steady current of warm air rose from the dark space beneath. I stood still. The breeze passed straight through my ribs, whistling slightly as it cleared the lumbar vertebrae. Curious about the upward force, I laid a dry pine needle across my left metatarsals. The draft lifted one end, tilting it until it balanced against my ankle. The alignment held. A quiet, functional chimney inside the room.