The Wooden Ridge

Smooth desktop ends. A cliff! Wooden ruler lying flat, numbers running down the edge. Perfect beam. I plant one foot on the zero mark. Wobble—correct! Torso bends, arms tilt outward like wings. One step forward. Two steps. The clear plastic bevel clicks against the wood grain beneath. Then, a yellow pencil rolling straight toward my path. No stop. I crouch low, spring straight over the rolling cylinder, and touch down clean on the six-inch line. Perfectly balanced.