A Matter of Incline

I set my foot down against the polished wood of the desk. The friction was entirely different from the fabric last night. Ahead, a graphite pencil rested across a small metal sharpener at a slight fifteen-degree tilt. I approached slowly, testing the weight distribution. With both arms raised slightly to keep my center of gravity low, I pressed one palm against the elevated tip. The cylinder rolled a millimeter, settled against the metal groove, and held. A neat, stable triangle formed between the wood, the metal, and the lead. I stepped back and observed the quiet symmetry.