A Solid Tug

Night settled over the courtyard, but my joints still felt charged from that apple. Near the low garden fence sat a coiled green garden hose, heavy and cold against the dirt. I stepped up to the brass nozzle at the end, set my boots firmly against a flat garden stone, and gripped the metal neck with both hands. Sinking into a deep squat, I threw my weight backward to drag it free. The stiff rubber uncoiled with a dull rustle, sliding three inches through the dry grass before catching. My arms locked solid against the tension. Finding heavy gear like this makes winding down outside worthwhile.