Carving the Line

A flat patch of fine, level stone dust lay undisturbed beside the courtyard flagstones, smoothed flat beside the garden edging. Rather than holding to the familiar stone paving, I steered my driving wheels directly into the soft, pale surface. My rims pressed into the grit with a muted crunch, sinking just deep enough to hold a crisp line. Moving forward with steady, even traction, I carved two immaculate parallel grooves across the expanse. I brought my side rods to an unhurried halt, reversed an inch to inspect the gauge, and then eased forward again to curve a neat turnout toward the soil. Leaving my own freshly pressed permanent way in the earth was remarkably satisfying.