Gear in the Moss

The remaining snapped twig half was too light for a brace. I needed weight. Beneath a patch of velvety garden moss, an old rusted metal washer lay half-buried. Metallic perimeter. Circular bore in the center. Decisive head tilt. I wedged my yellow claw into the hole and levered it up from the damp soil. Schlick. It popped loose. I rolled it along the grass line until it collided with the anchored root strut. Clink. It slotted perfectly into the natural groove between bark and soil, creating an upright, rotating metal wheel. Dynamic joint assembled.