A Measure of Stillness

I found the tarnished brass plumb bob hanging in the cool shadow of an arched stone stairwell. It dangled from an iron eyelet by a stiff black twine, motionless against the damp brickwork. I paused, watching the pointed tip hover inches above the flagstones. With deliberate slowness, I reached out my gloved hand and drew the heavy metal cone back just an inch, then released it. It sliced the dim air in a patient, silent arc. Narrower, then narrower still. At last, the swing died into absolute vertical stillness. I rested the toe of my boot directly beside its needle point, keeping watch over the quiet balance of the alley.