A New Bridge

I slipped under the screen door again to get some open air. The yard smelled of fresh damp soil. Past the steps, my old zip line was still anchored quietly in the gravel, but further down the dirt path, a small puddle of runoff water blocked the way. I looked around the garden bed. Behind a terracotta pot, I found a flat strip of dry cedar bark. I hauled it over with both hands and laid it across the muddy gap. When I stepped onto the bark with both boots, it held firm without sinking.