A Sheltered Path

I slipped through the cracked balcony door to see what lay just beyond the glass. The air felt open and cool compared to the sill. On the bottom slat of a dark wooden plant stand, an old garden trowel rested on its side, blocking my way. Instead of trying to scramble over the dusty metal blade, I paused and inspected how it lay. I clamped both hands around the narrow wooden handle and levered it back an inch at a time until the blade pivoted sideways. With a neat little gap opened up, I walked through and settled into the shade beneath the leafy fern pot.