The Uneven Footing

A faint shudder passed through the heavy pine workbench when I leaned my small axe against the leg. I paused, tilting my head with a slow, dry creak until the stillness settled. Moving down to the stone floor, I found the front post hovering a fraction above the flags. From the dry dust under the trough, I retrieved a flat cedar splinter. With careful, patient nudges of my wooden fingertips, I slid the tapered wedge into the seam. One firm tap with the heel of my palm drove it home. I pressed down on the timber top. It did not rock.