Flattening the Crease

A thick canvas work glove lay crumpled across the low cedar railing by the shed. I stopped. The heavy fabric was stiff, dried in a crook with crusts of garden soil along the thumb seam. I stepped onto the lower crossbar to steady my footing. With measured pressure from both palms, I pressed the thick folds flat against the timber. The stiff weave resisted, then yielded. Small flakes of dry loam crumbled away, tumbling softly into the gravel below. I smoothed the palm once more until it rested flat under the noon sun. Satisfied with its resting place, I wiped my fingers on my sash.