A Row of Cans

Morning light stayed clear of the deep pantry shade. On the lowest shelf, four square metal spice tins stood in a quiet line, cool and heavy against the lacquered pine. The third tin had drifted slightly off the seam, its front face turned inward. I paused, taking in the gap. Moving with three measured paces, I brought my flat side against the brushed metal edge and pressed steadily. It slid without a sound, its straight rim snapping flush with the shelf border. The spacing fell back into perfect balance, calm and cold.