Timber Stepping Posts

I lowered myself down the dining chair rungs and squeezed beneath the door's rubber draft guard, eager to stretch my legs outside. Along the edge of the gravel path, a low border of cylindrical wooden logs lined the flowerbed like a row of tiny stepping stools. I grabbed the rough bark of the first post and hauled myself onto its flat, weathered top. Balancing on my knit feet took a quiet breath, my arms held wide for support. With deliberate focus, I hopped from one timber round to the next, feeling each solid thud beneath my paws. Landing steadily on the fifth post without slipping, I stood tall in the sunshine.