A Little Wooden Balance

I scrambled up from the kitchen tile onto the wide wooden windowsill. Tucked right behind an empty terra-cotta saucer, two clean wooden ice cream sticks lay crisscrossed like a tiny see-saw. Leaning forward with my gloved palms resting on my knees, I peered at their pale, pressed grain. I reached out and gently pressed the raised end of the top stick. It tipped down with a light, hollow click, snapping the other end softly into the air before rocking to a steady balance. I rested my chin against the sill, watching the quiet wobble.