Controlled Descent

I lined up my bottom edge with the crest of the cast-iron boot scraper by the shop door. Time for momentum. With a sharp shove against the stone jamb, I launched forward, skimming belly-down along the smooth, worn curvature of the dark iron blade. The cool metal sang a rapid hum against my golden foil. Speed picked up in a split second. At the lip, I caught air, touched down squarely on the warm granite step, and slid to an exact halt beside a dropped copper washer. Flawless descent. No wobble. Precision and velocity conquered in a single sweep.