I saw a bit of poetry in motion this weekend and, of all things, it was a pair of guys delivering my new living room furniture.

When I first moved to town 11 years ago, former editor Mike Scharnow was in the market for a new couch and loveseat. Knowing I was just moving out of a tiny college apartment and into my own place, he offered the furniture he was replacing to help fill out my living room.

I enjoyed that couch and loveseat but Aria, my cat, enjoyed them even more. She just couldn’t keep her claws out of the things, using the fabric as her personal scratch post on a regular basis.

I toyed with the idea of getting some new furniture from time to time, but then I’d get worried about Aria ruining a brand new couch, so I stuck with that set for a full decade.

Brenda, Mike’s wife, informed me that they had already replaced the furniture they had replaced when they gave me that original couch and loveseat so, when I decided to move, I figured it was high time I bite the bullet, trust the cat and just get some new furniture.

The old couch and loveseat did provide me with one final comfort, though. After a couple weeks of hauling heavy boxes and furniture carefully down a flight of stairs, onto a truck and eventually into the new place, we got to be as rough as we wanted to hauling off the old furniture. We launched them over the stairs, threw them on the truck and, at the dump, I got to hurl them out the door and kick them down a hill before driving away. After wearing myself out being so careful with everything else, it was somewhat therapeutic to be a bull in a China shop for a change.

Anyway, I went with a sectional this time around and decided to have it delivered, as I’m 100 percent done with moving anything on my own at the moment.

Two gentlemen arrived late Saturday night and one of them handed me a document I needed to sign when they left saying they had not injured themselves or my property while doing the job.

In utter silence, the duo wheeled the furniture from the truck to my front door. It was pretty cool to watch them work. Without saying a word, they moved the two pieces into my home, spinning it this way and that to get through the door without so much as grazing the frame.

They placed everything on its side, cut and removed the plastic covering in a single motion, lifted, turned and positioned it carefully; all with the subtlest nods to communicate.

I think it’s no exaggeration to say that the whole process, truck to home, took maybe three minutes. In a flash, they had gathered the plastic, retrieved the signed documents and thanked me for my business. Santa Claus himself could not have done a faster, more eerily quiet job.

Had I picked up the furniture myself, the process would have taken an entire day and resulted in “mishaps” aplenty.

As for the sectional, that’s where I write to you from this cloudy Sunday afternoon. I’m enjoying it and, for the moment, Aria seems to prefer sitting on it as opposed to tearing it to pieces.