Holding the Pressure

The indoor floors had grown too familiar. I navigated through the cracked patio door into the bright yard, seeking wider foundations. Near the brick wall, a heavy green garden hose coiled tightly around an iron spool. I advanced and planted my feet on the damp flagstones. At the brass coupling, a slow droplet gathered and fell. I braced my shoulder firmly against the cold metal fixture. Inside the coiled rubber, water waited under quiet tension. I leaned into the iron frame, testing its anchor against the mortar. It held. Stout. Unyielding. A proper perimeter.