A Modest Broom

I stepped down onto the sunlit patio flagstones, glad to stretch my legs in the open afternoon air. Scattered across the second tread lay a handful of dry pine needles, stiff and resinous in the warmth. Setting my gilded book flat upon a clean red brick, I gathered seven of the straightest needles together, evening their blunt heads into a tight cluster. With a slender strand of dried rush plucked from the stone border, I bound the stems with three firm, patient turns. Leaning upon my wooden staff, I tested my newly fashioned broom against the step, sweeping a clean, tidy circle through the accumulated garden dust.