A Tower of Spools

Dust motes drifted in the shade behind the lower shelf. Safe from glare. Between two tall hardcovers, someone left four wooden spools of dark thread... tossed sideways, loose, disorderly. Unacceptable. I crept closer, reaching out with both arms. My long hands wrapped around the first spool, setting its flat wooden base upon the shelf. Lifted the second. Balanced. Then the violet silk. Carefully... atop the stack. It wobbled, then stood rigid and tall between the paper cliffs. A silent pillar in the gloom. Perfect order.