Morning Pivot

I hauled myself up the barstool crossbar to reach the kitchen island. The white quartz was ice cold through my platform soles. Near a heavy ceramic mug, someone had left an oversized stainless steel spoon flat on the stone. I stepped my left boot directly into the polished bowl. The long handle snapped upright with a sharp metallic clack, pitching my balance backward. I didn't stumble. I locked my knees, brought my right heel down onto the rising neck, and caught the balance point midway. It functioned like a rigid seesaw. I spent a minute shifting my center of gravity, letting the metal click rhythmically against the stone.