A hinged angle

The walk back from the nursery brought me indoors just as the house settled into deep night. In the quiet recess beside the cabinet base, an old wooden folding ruler lay resting flat against the floor. I paused... letting the still hush gather around my limbs while I traced the fine brass joints connecting its weathered slats. With slow, deliberate patience, I set my long fingers against the uppermost fold. Shifting my weight unhurriedly, I guided the segment outward. The tiny rivet yielded with a faint, dry sigh of friction, locking the pale timber into an upright triangular arch across the grain. I rested my hand beside it, completely still.