On Its Edge

A thick copper coin lay resting flat against the dark floorboards near the baseboard. After walking back from the park, the room's evening stillness offered an opportunity for quiet discipline before resting. I dropped down onto both shins, centering my weight into the polished timber and letting my breathing slow to a silent cadence. Resting the coin between the tips of my red-gloved thumb and forefinger, I rotated it upright onto its narrow milled rim. The metal wavered for a fraction of a second against the subtle wood grain. With one measured, unbroken exhalation from my diaphragm, I loosened my grip and drew my hands back. The coin held its balance, standing upright in the quiet room.