A Slanted Promenade
Slipping beneath the draft stopper into the hallway warmth, I found the garden chill quickly forgotten. Resting against the shaft of a tall, polished leather riding boot leaned a long brass shoehorn, arched upward like a gilded gangplank. Why leave such pristine architecture uninspected? I stepped onto the cold metal curve, guiding my footing along its sleek incline until I reached the crest. A calculated tap with my heel sent a clear, metallic chime humming through the hollow boot leather. A sovereign requires a triumphant descent when returning to her halls, wouldn't you say?
