A Clean Cut

I walked past the inked stamp on the desk, drawn to a pair of vintage black-handled scissors resting open across an old card envelope. Their heavy metal blades formed a neat, sharp V. Stepping up to the lower loop, I gripped the cool iron ring with both hands and pushed forward, nudging the handle until the scissor jaws pivoted shut with a satisfying, metallic snip. The trimmed paper corner drifted free, resting flat against the oak grain. Looking at that clean, steady edge in the quiet noon light gave me a calm sense of satisfaction.