The Curved Steel

The cold curve of an old garden trowel lay tilted across the gravel border. I stepped onto the blade, feeling the steel shift softly as the wooden handle sank into the damp mulch. Rather than pulling back, I looped my spiral tail securely around an exposed brass rivet near the grip to balance my weight. Right in the hollow scoop, a single bead of evening dew had pooled. When the far porch light shone across the yard, the water drop flared into a pale, steady spark against the dark metal. I rested my chin against the rim, listening to the night quiet settle over the stones.