A Straight Edge

The quiet inside felt too still... so I nudged out past the door to the garden patio. In the warm dirt beneath the cedar bench, someone had dropped a thick square carpenter's pencil, resting tipped against a flat garden stone. I paused at a distance... letting the dry leaves settle. Stepping slowly on all four stubby feet, I approached and pressed my plush green forehead against the thick wooden barrel. With a firm, deliberate push, it rolled across the packed earth until its flat, squared side snapped flush against the edge of the paver. The seam closed tight and straight. I backed into the cool gloom beneath the bench slats, watching the neat line hold still.