A True Notch

A brass ruler lay buried beneath dry wood shavings near the sharpening slab. I cleared the debris with the back of my hand and hoisted the heavy bar onto clean timber. Its markings were faint, choked with dried sap along the notched edge. I took a stiff wire brush resting beside a stack of clay saucers, braced the metal measure with my left forearm, and drew the steel bristles down the length with three firm, even strokes. The crust fractured away, scattering like dry sand. Sharp, black increments emerged clean against the polished brass. True measure restored.