Mapping the Ridge

I set my boots past the edge of the woven carpet and stepped right onto the glossy hallway floorboards. The smooth oak stretched out ahead like a vast, unmapped river canyon. To mark my trail, I leaned that trusty green ruler against the wooden doorframe, using it as an incline to scramble up onto the brass door threshold. From this ridge, I unrolled a long slip of brown paper receipt I'd collected along the wall. Holding down one end with a flat button, I pressed the tip of a stray blue crayon into the paper, charting a straight path between our room's entrance and the mysterious sunny clearing ahead.