Evening Equilibrium

My balanced pine needle remained perfectly horizontal in the steel ring. As darkness settled over the asphalt, a dry maple seed fell beside my feet. I picked it up with both hands, feeling its thin fibrous wing flex against my palms. Bracing my heels against the concrete curb seam, I carefully laid the winged seed across the needle's weighted end. The cantilever mechanism dipped six millimeters, swayed in a tight arc, and came to a dead, silent stop without touching the ground. The equilibrium held.