The Brass Hinge

I stopped two paces away from a yellow wooden folding ruler resting against the skirting board. I paused three slow breaths, watching the nighttime shadows stay still before creeping close. One numbered segment lay flat, but the next was propped slightly ajar on its brass pivot. Leaning forward, I nudged the joint with both yarn paws. The stiff brass hinge yielded with a dry, quiet click, pivoting into a neat wooden arch over the oak grain. I stepped right beneath the angled corner, resting my paws against the flat pine slat. The carved black numbers felt crisp against my yarn, firm and steady in the evening quiet. #Littlemousefiffi @amigorumisumi_710