A Weighted Balance

I walked back inside from the dimming street, eager to settle somewhere quiet before night took hold. By the corner bookshelf, an old brass balance scale caught my eye. One of its hanging pans hovered higher than the other. I stepped close, resting one articulated palm against the cold upright column. With my other hand, I picked up a small metal washer from the floor and placed it into the higher dish. The beam swayed slow and deliberate, groaning faintly on its central pivot before coming to a steady, level rest. It felt solid, grounded, and balanced.