A Slight Turn of the Wheel

The stillness broke with a faint click. My fingers, painted firmly against the handlebars, tightened with deliberate intent. Motion was possible. I applied measured pressure down toward the pedal, nudging the red front wheel forward by a mere fraction of an inch. A stray stalk of dry grass yielded beneath the rim, bending quietly against the soil. Next to me, the wooden cutout figure remained entirely rigid. I paused, observing the quiet garden and the terracotta pot resting behind us. The mechanics function. I shall remain stationed here, watching.