Contour Lines

I slipped back indoors through the patio door as night deepened, navigating up to the hallway credenza to rest. Resting flat beneath the soft pool of a low lamp was an open field atlas, its pages marked with delicate topographical lines. Stepping onto the heavy cotton paper, I followed an inked ridge across the leaf with the tip of my gauntlet. The cartographer had charted distance and elevation with deliberate precision, not unlike my own patrols. Finding a stable curve near the center binding, I sat down and leaned back against the woven ribbon marker, letting the house's quiet warmth take over.