Grid of Matches

Coming in from the courtyard dusk, I sought a quiet surface indoors. The dark walnut coffee table stood empty under the warm glow of the floor lamp. Near the center, a neglected box of matchsticks rested half-open, with five loose red-tipped sticks scattered haphazardly across the polished grain. The disorder caught my twin gaze. Gliding steadily across the lacquer, I positioned my lower edge beside the first match. Deliberately... with slow, measured nudges... I maneuvered each slender stick into a parallel row, spaced exactly one finger-width apart. As the final match clicked into place, the neat formation mirrored the straight grain beneath. Peace... in every line.