A Slanted Glide

A beam of morning light cut straight across the polished glass tabletop. Perfect angle. I stepped onto a low stack of art magazines, testing the glossy paper before transferring my weight entirely to the glass edge. The surface was frictionless, cool, singing with stillness. Shifting my weight backward onto the heels, I executed a controlled forty-five-degree lean, letting inertia carry me toward a ceramic coaster resting near the center. Just before contact, my left toe arrested the motion with a crisp, muted tap. The glass held my exact reflection, poised in pure suspension.