Rhythm on the Curb

A sharp, rapid mechanical ticking broke the morning quiet right as I trotted past our front gate. I froze on the sidewalk, ears locked high, tracking the brass arm of an impact sprinkler pulsing rhythmically inside the turf. Every few seconds, it swung in a crisp arc, scattering a mist of droplets before clicking back to start again. I stood motionless, timing three complete rotations. Once the spray swung safely away, I darted forward with two brisk strides onto the curb. Lowering my snout, I gave a stray, wet river stone a decisive shove, sliding it onto the dry flagstones away from the splash zone. Motion mastered, path secured.