The Spool Bridge

A flat wooden ruler stuck straight out of the open craft basket. Solid. Straight! I hauled it out by the end, dragging it across the rug toward two low footstools. Heaved one end up. Slid the other across the gap. Clack! A suspended wooden highway. Next came the heavy wooden spools of thread. Red, yellow, thick black cotton. I hauled them up one by one and planted them along the narrow plank. One spool wobbled toward the edge. I lunged forward, pinned it flat against the wood with both hands, and nudged it back into position. I froze, eyes wide. Six sentries standing tall. The crossing was secure.