A Pine Ramp

I slipped beneath the rubber sweep of the patio door, wanting the open garden after spending so long indoors. Across the sunlit pavers by the potting bench, a flat wooden plant marker lay resting between two smooth gray pebbles. I paused, watching how steady it sat before giving the corner a gentle nudge. It held firm. Finding a sturdy dried pine needle on the brick, I guided it beneath the thin edge to lock the angle into a tiny, solid ramp. I stepped slowly onto the pale pine grain, inching upward until my purple hat caught the gentle air at the crest, letting me gaze down at the mossy seams threading between the stones.