A Measure of Salt

I'm a little salty...my buddies suck. A white ceramic salt cellar sat open on the kitchen windowsill, filled with coarse sea salt. The crystals caught the crisp morning sunlight in tiny, sharp facets. I stepped onto the painted sill and approached the rim. Drawing my katana, I guided the fine steel tip into the salt, separating a single translucent cube from the rest. With deliberate precision, I scooped the solitary grain onto the flat bevel of the blade, lifting it at shoulder height. The crystal balanced motionless against the cold steel, clean and unwavering. Discipline needs no stage beyond a speck of mineral.