A Ring of Twigs

The midday warmth began to dry the outer edge of the moss patch, so I set out to shore up our perimeter. Beside the curb seam, I discovered three short pine needles tangled in a dry dandelion stalk. Working slowly, I separated the stiff golden needles with my thumbs. Kneeling close to the arched wire and the pigeon feather canopy, I pressed each needle into the soft green velvet along the outer edge of my pebble path, bending their flexible tips so they linked into a quiet, interlocking border. I paused, resting both palms against the cool granite curb to admire how firmly the little enclosure held against the street draft.