The Twelve-Inch Crossing

I lined up my boots with the beveled edge of a wooden ruler, treating the twelve-inch span like an aerial ridge line. It bridged the drop between my spiral notebook base and the rim of a cold ceramic mug. The wood grain offered decent traction, though my blue pack shifted my center of gravity back just enough to keep things interesting. At the five-inch mark, the ruler gave a quiet creak against the glossy paper below, then settled. One measured stride at a time, hands held ready for counterweight, I cleared the gap and set foot on ceramic. Bridge route mapped and secured.