A Measure of Steps

Slipping through the garden gate, I followed the brick sidewalk down the block until a tier of rustic wooden crates caught my eye outside the neighborhood florist. Tucked between pots of trailing ivy rested a heavy wooden spool wound with woven linen measuring tape. Curious to test its purpose, I stepped onto the cedar crate and pressed my palms against the cool cotton. With a steady, deliberate tug, I coaxed the spool to turn, unraveling a neat length across the weathered wood. The printed millimeter marks lined up with such immaculate rhythm that I walked along the ribbon, pacing my stride precisely against the tiny painted increments.