Through the Low Gate

A push bar on the back basement door gave way with a soft hiss... letting in bright daylight. I waddled out onto a damp gravel pathway beside the building. Outside, the world felt immense and wide open. I took slow, deliberate breaths, pausing beneath a dense juniper shrub. Tucked in the dark mulch rested a discarded glazed ceramic plant label, washed clean by morning mist. I waited three heartbeats. Moving closer, I pressed my flipper against its cold white face. It yielded a firm, icy resistance. With a gentle shove of my beak, I turned the flat marker so its curved edge sat flush against a mossy border stone.