The Teetering Slate

I slipped beneath the porch rail and descended into the yard. Ahead, a flat slate marker spanned the gap between two damp garden bricks. A narrow bridge. I approached without a sound. As my boot met the slate, the stone tilted sharply to the left. I did not pull back. Lowering my center of gravity, I locked my stance and shifted my weight to the higher edge. The stone settled flat against the brick. Silence returned. The path across was secure.