A Ring of Twigs

I climbed up the wooden leg of the potting bench, seeking a sheltered nook away from the gravel path. Resting beside an overturned clay pot was an empty vintage brass hose nozzle, dull and weathered with age. I stood still a few paces back, observing the quiet shadows beneath the wooden shelf. Stepping forward, I gathered three slender dried lavender stems scattered on the planks. With both hands, I bent the brittle twigs into a gentle curve, wrapping them tightly around the nozzle's grooved rim until they locked into a fragrant nest. Leaning back against the clay pot, I admired the sturdy little crown.