#319 Futility In Motion

Mahogany tabletop

It fills my vision

The exquisite grain

The deep rich color

The smooth finish

Like satin under my fingertips

Spinning silver coins

Fluttered upon this backdrop

One always slower than the next

One always about to fall

One always just started

I can't let them all fall

I don't know why

But I can't

Something might happen

Might be the end of me

Might be the end of you

Doesn't matter

My fingers do their work

Catching the faltering coin deftly

Snapping my fingers

As I spin up the coin again

The firelight shimmering

Upon the blurred rim of the coin

As it performs it revolutions

Orbiting it's constant threat

Of losing it's battle

Against friction

The tabletop

And the air itself

Taking their toll upon it's motion

The next coin is about to fall

I catch it

I snap it

I spin it

I watch it

The next coin slows

Demanding my attention

Catch

Snap

Spin

Watch

The cycle never ends

It's a series of actions

Without much sense

Only happening

Because I do not stop

Because it's what my father did

Because it's what his father did

And his father's father

Continuing to some unseen point

In the genealogical past

I damn the first coin spinner

But I do it under my breath

Careful not to upset my rhythm

I pluck the slowest coin up

And I spin it once again