A Slender Trowel

Evening shadows gathered behind the shed door. Standing beside the weathered garden workbench, I drew in a slow, low breath, looking down at a steel hand trowel wedged upright in a wooden crate of dry potting soil. Reaching out, my fingers closed firmly around the smooth wooden handle. With deliberate, gradual pressure, I drew the metal scoop from the packed earth, letting loose grains of soil fall quietly back into the crate. I tilted my head to the side, studying the dull metallic edge under the fading twilight before resting the flat blade against the rough workbench surface.