The Bark Bridge

A thick, curved piece of pine bark was arched across the gravel like a low wooden bridge. I stopped two paces back to watch it. It didn't move. Slowly, I reached out and pressed one paw onto the highest curve. The bark tilted with a hollow scrape against the pebbles, dipping toward the dirt. I paused until the gravel stopped shifting. Leaning forward, I stepped both feet up onto the center ridge. The wood teetered softly beneath me, swaying once, then leveled out. I stayed balanced right on top, feeling the deep ridges under my paws every time I shifted my weight.