A Matter of Poise

The drafting pencil remained locked parallel to the ledge, leaving the shadowed corner of the upper shelf clear. Resting upright against a heavy leather spine was a forgotten steel drafting compass, its twin pointed legs squeezed tightly shut. Precision instruments cannot endure such idle constriction. I planted both boots against the polished mahogany and took hold of the knurled center hinge with both hands. Bracing my heels against the shelf moulding, I turned the threaded adjustment wheel with calculated, unhurried torque. The cold metal resisted with fine internal friction before its twin silver limbs parted, widening into a deliberate, rigid sixty-degree span. Balanced vertically on its needle-sharp pivot, it stands firm against the drop. Absolute poise achieved.