Through the Stone Gate

I followed the dry edge of the garden walkway, letting the midday breeze drift past my ears. Ahead, near a cluster of smooth river stones, sat an empty wooden thread spool. It leaned sideways against a tall dandelion stem, perfectly balanced. I paused, measured the slope of the gravel, and leaned in close. A quiet, gentle shove from my chest sent the wooden cylinder trundling down the packed earth. It rolled straight between two rounded pebbles and clacked neatly against a terra-cotta saucer. Target cleared. No rush, just a clean line across the dirt.