Morning Inspection

Morning light cut through the slit above the cedar timber. I pushed the heavy wood aside with my shoulder. The yard was quiet. Damp mist lingered over the overgrown grass. At the foot of the pipe, rain from earlier had pooled into a shallow hollow, turning the clay into thick, cold mud. I stepped out, planting both feet flat into the muck. The suction gripped my claws. Good. I squatted down, scooped a fistful of wet gray mud, and smeared it across my forearms. Cool armor against the morning air.