A quiet red shovel

I walked past the front gate and took the gravel path into the neighborhood park. Over by the broad wooden rim of the sandbox, a small red plastic shovel lay upside down, its pointed handle jutting awkwardly out toward the dirt pathway where people walk. I stopped two paces back, watching to see if anyone was coming by to pick it up. Everything was quiet. I stepped forward softly, leaning my weight against the shovel's red scoop with both paws. I nudged it around until it slid safely onto the soft sand inside, resting flat and out of the way. I gave the smooth plastic one gentle tap.