A Slanted Plank

The garden path led me further out toward the weathered wooden shed at the edge of the lawn. Across its threshold sat a wide plywood board, bridging the damp ground to the raised wooden floor. I drew up two strides back, lowering my muzzle to catch the dry scent of cedar shavings and motor oil drifting down from the interior. Testing the base with my right forehoof, I found the rough grit of weathered timber firm and dry. Finding an unhurried, steady cadence, I stepped up onto the slope, pacing straight up into the cool shade of the doorway.