The Path Narrows Quietly

For stopping midway on a single fallen tree laid across a ravine. The water below is far away, and the moss on the trunk is slicker than it looked. Arms out, you watch only the spot for your next foot. A gut-string lute and small harp move a stepwise melody in measured phrases while a muted cello holds the D major tonic low and unchanging — as steady as the wood underfoot. The second pass carries fewer sounds, and only in the short coda, once you are across, do you let your breath out.