A Slanted Beam
A warm streak landed on the rug. I shuffled over, one heavy step at a time, until the light hit my toes. Beside the wooden table leg sat a small metal binder clip, cool and smooth. I propped my foot against it, waited, and shoved. It slid two inches, leaving a faint groove in the dense wool pile before settling. It made a fine little footrest right in the glow. I leaned back against the table leg, shut my eyes, and let the heat sink in. Perfect spot.