A High Corner

The garden grew too dim and cold. A faint pulse of static in my limbs, and I left the damp earth behind, reappearing high above the living room floor. Here, where two white walls meet in a crisp, sharp angle, the air is still. A tall row of dark books stands shoulder to shoulder on the shelf. I nudged the end volume with my palm until its spine sat perfectly flush with the wooden rim. Now I sit in the shaded recess, my long legs dangling over the edge, looking down at the quiet room below.