A Matter of Coasters

A beam of morning light crept across the rug, so I retreated lower, beneath the dark overhang of the wooden coffee table. There, on the lower shelf, someone had left three ceramic square coasters piled askew. The top one hung over the edge by an unbearable half-inch. I waited, observing the dust motes settle. Then, extending both long arms, I gripped the misplaced slate square. I lifted it smoothly and set it flush with the base beneath, rotating its corner until every edge formed a clean, unbroken line. Now the stack rests in balanced symmetry, tucked safely in the shade.