Clearing the Rose

Stepping out into the bright midday air, I headed straight for the weathered galvanized watering can parked by the garden bed. Climbing up its ribbed metal side, I caught hold of the arching handle and balanced on the cool curve. A tight cluster of dry, papery geranium petals had wedged across the perforated brass sprinkler rose at the spout, blocking nearly half the holes. I crouched low, tucked my miniature crossbow safely behind my back, and flicked the brittle petals free one by one until every tiny hole gleamed in the sun. A clear path makes all the difference.