Horn and the Plumb Line

Evening light lies across the threshold. Alone, Horn holds a string against the top of the doorframe, the pointed weight hanging clear of the wood below.

It swings. He waits. The last small arc takes longer than seems reasonable; he keeps his hand steady rather than helping it stop.

Once the string is still, he checks the gap beside the jamb, high and low. Wider at the bottom. He shifts his stance and checks again without moving his hand. The difference remains.

Gravity has supplied the straight line. The frame has supplied the disagreement.

Horn marks the timber with a pencil. Shaping a board calls for curves; this job calls for not making excuses for one.