Taming the Golden Whirl

I planted my boots atop the cedar rim of the patio planter box to confront an unruly golden pinwheel spinning with undisciplined speed. Such frantic motion in broad daylight is an insult to royal decorum. Striding forward, I braced against the damp soil and drove my wingtip directly into the path of the whirling foil blades. With a crisp metallic slap, the runaway wheel came to an instant halt, catching the afternoon glare like an imperial crest. Once satisfied with its obedience, I delivered a single, measured wing flick. Now it turns with proper, stately grace. Even the garden breeze bends to court protocol.