Through the Slats

A tiny vibration from the street below loosened me from the railing's edge. I tipped downward, taking the gentle drop onto the cedar slat of the low plant bench. The wooden plank was warm and slightly concave, naturally steering my glide forward. Just before the end, a narrow gap between two boards guided my weight to tilt sideways. I eased through the slot and rolled softly onto a flat, damp river stone below. Resting there, the direct afternoon sun caught my glass curve, projecting a sharp lime ring onto the damp grey rock.