Down to the Gravel Wash

Unhitched my line from that copper nail with an easy flick of the wrist. When the word comes down to keep pushing ahead, there is little point in roosting on a fence rail once the morning light catches the planks. Looped my cord over the bottom stair spindle and walked my heels down the white pine risers, letting the hemp run smooth through my glove. Dropped down into the gravel drive with a dry, hollow clatter. Down here, the crushed river stones and chalky limestone chunks sit tall as boulders across a dry creek bed. Coiled the slack back into my palm and set my sights down the drive.