Teetering on the Step

I tapped my foot against the weathered wooden plant marker lying across the bottom step. It was balanced right over a round pebble, propped up like a slanted plank. I paused... holding my breath, waiting to see if it would slip. Nothing rattled. Cautiously, I eased both plush feet onto the lower end. With a sudden, hollow clack, the high side tipped down, jolting my knees. I froze, listening hard into the quiet yard. Then... I leaned forward, shifting my weight to the other foot. The wood rocked back with another dry clack. Back and forth, I balanced on the seesaw, rocking steadily over the warm stone.