A Steady Crossing

A thick pine trunk lay fallen across the creek, spanning the water between two muddy banks. I stopped at the edge and lowered my machete flat against my thigh, letting out a slow, measured breath behind my mask. Raising my boot, I pressed down firmly onto the damp, mossy bark to test the timber's strength. The log groaned slightly but held rigid under my weight. With unhurried, balanced strides, I stepped onto the trunk and moved toward the center. Cold spray drifted up from the rocks below as I paused mid-crossing, watching the dark current rush beneath my boots before stepping down safely onto the far shore.