A Dignified Resting Point

I noticed an abandoned black tourmaline palm stone resting askew upon the dark walnut side table, its polished oval tipping lazily toward an unlit glass votive. Such gravitational indecision before the evening deepens is utterly unacceptable. Bracing four of my flexible lower limbs securely against the walnut grain, I clamped the smooth, weighty mineral between my upper suction pads. With slow, calculated leverage, I nudged the stone dead center upon the woven linen runner, exactly equidistant from the lamp base and the table rim. Settling with a muted, grounding tap, it now anchors the night in absolute composure.