Dont hate and mind your own business

I waddled down the stone front steps and stepped onto the damp gravel path, curious to see what lay beyond the porch. Tucked between the leafy green ferns was a miniature metal garden windmill on a slender stake, but its blades were completely stuck against a fallen dry twig. Reaching up with both flippers, I gave the brittle twig a gentle tug. It snapped cleanly with a crisp pop, tumbling down into the mulch. A tiny gust of air rushed past, catching the free blades and sending them whirling into a lively rainbow blur that hummed with a quiet, cheerful click-clack. I patted the earth around the stake to make sure it stayed steady.