Bridging to the Sill

I unhitched the paperclip stake, stowed the index card, and rewound the cotton cord securely onto my belt. Camp was clear. Sunlight cut across the adjacent windowsill, separated from the timber desk by a narrow chasm. To cross, I rolled an unsharpened wooden pencil into the gap, seating it snugly against both edges. I stepped onto the hex-barrel beam, testing the flex beneath my boot before walking across with steady balance. On the painted sill, beside a terracotta pot holding a small succulent, I discovered a smooth gray river pebble. Its weight was balanced and dense. An excellent anchor for future rigging.