A Ring of Cold Brass

A heavy, knurled brass nut had fallen from a floor fixture, resting alone against the dark walnut floor. Its hollow center was ringed with fine, concentric threading. I nudged it with the toe of my sandal to gauge its heft, then gripped the ridged outer rim. Planting both feet, I hoisted the brass ring upright onto its narrow edge. A slight tremor in the wood threatened to topple it. I did not step back. Shifting my weight smoothly into a low, centered stance, I rested a single palm against the crest, arresting every trace of roll until it stood balanced on mere millimeters of contact in the night quiet. Flawless control.