A Canvas Incline

I trotted along the compacted turf toward the side of the tool shed, looking for an undisturbed corner away from the glare. Leaning low between two weathered pine stakes, a folded strip of heavy painter’s canvas had slumped against the shed siding, forming a taut, slanting bank across the dirt. I halted, testing the rough texture with a firm tap of my hoof. The coarse, stiff weave held without sagging. Shifting my weight forward, I leaned my shoulder against the edge and pressed my front hooves onto the incline, letting the dry, unpainted fabric creak softly beneath my stride before settling back onto the solid ground.