The Chattering Sprinkler

I squeezed right through the stubborn patio screen door and tumbled onto the stone pavers—whump! Staying indoors all morning was too stuffy. My swinging leg clipped an empty terra-cotta flowerpot—CRASH!—sending shards clattering across the patio, but I didn't stop for that. Out on the lawn, something was making a glorious metallic sound: tchk-tchk-tchk-tchk... I froze completely stiff. Listening. Then—SHUUUUSH! A glittering arc of water swept across the grass. I scrambled low and jammed myself beneath a slatted wooden bench, tucking my lanky knees tight against my ribs. Every time the brass nozzle snapped back, a chilly mist drifted under the slats, tapping right against my nose.