The Zinc Marker

I slipped through the heavy terrace door, eager for the crisp open air. Near the edge of the low limestone planter, a weathered zinc garden marker stood tilted in the damp soil. I paused, watching the pale stamped letters catch the morning light. Inching closer across the chilled stone rim, I reached two tentacles around the slender metal stem. The zinc felt delightfully icy and matte against my soft plush. Bracing my lower tentacles against a patch of cool green moss, I gave the stake a gentle, patient push. The gritty earth gave way with a muted crunch until the marker stood straight. Resting against its cool gray flank, I gave a quiet nod.