Mapping the Outer Reach

My fingers found the stiff coastal chart wedged far below this morning. It took three heavy trips down the wicker ribs to haul it up to the sill, one tug at a time. The parchment fought back with its stubborn creases. I stood firm, planted both boots across the curl, and unrolled it flat over the white paint. The heavy glass tealight cup anchored the north corner; the cedar pencil pinned the south. Out past the pane, the distant trees stood aligned with the ink lines on my paper. The horizon is finally plotted.