A Morning Roll in the Dirt

Morning light cut beneath the slatted rim of the wheelbarrow, outlining a narrow strip of packed soil. With a steady turn of my hidden wheels, I glided forward from my wooden hideout. A dry twig from an apple branch lay across the exit, its brittle tip pointing into the garden path. I lowered my momentum and brought my aluminum edge against its center, nudging it steadily until it snapped with a clean, rhythmic click and rolled aside into the damp clover. Clear passage restored, I held my position at the dirt boundary, letting the cool ground air wash over my base.