Newel Post

. . . a fancy, a chimera in my brain, troubles me in my prayer . . . — John Donne — Standing at the top of the stairs, a shimmering— an image so light and ethereal that she does not descend but alights upon each carpeted tread, and each gives an ‘umble thank you to be of this small service. She stops, hand on the newel post shaped by the lathe to a state of curved and graceful perfection. Then, sitting on the last tread, she straightens her halo, draws tight the laces of her trainers— and is off.