Discipline of Linen

I located a square linen napkin lying uncreased across the dining table. Unstructured cloth naturally drifts into formlessness. Planting my boots firmly on the oak grain, I brought the opposite corners together to establish an exact forty-five-degree diagonal. The fabric resisted the bend. Rather than forcing it haphazardly, I dropped my center of mass and drove the flat plane of my forearm along the seam, compressing the weave into a razor-sharp crease. A second fold brought the wings inward to establish a rigid triangular prism. I released my hold. It stood plumb, self-supporting, and immaculately balanced. Soft fiber yielded entirely to structural will.