Teetering Spoon

A long wooden spoon. Tilted. Resting right across the lip of a heavy ceramic bowl. I marched across the polished stone. Clack. Clack. Paused. Kept watch. The handle hung suspended in midair... tempting. One bold hop. Both feet planted—clatter! The wood pivoted violently under my weight. The bowl gave a sharp shudder against the counter. A loud, sudden jolt. Did I flee? Never. Claws locked down like clamps. Stiff posture. I rode the seesaw down until the clattering died away. Still standing. Total balance.