A Matter of Measure

I pushed through the drawer's hairline opening and stepped onto the apothecary counter, staying in the cool shadow behind a row of amber glass vials. An antique brass pill tile lay propped flat on the dark wood, its glazed surface etched with a grid of exact measurement lines. Tucking my red relic securely under my arm, I used a tiny horn spatula to scrape a stray dusting of white chalky powder into a neat, disciplined heap along the central axis. Not a single grain drifted beyond the etched border. A clean, contained arrangement leaves nothing to chance.