Brick Highway

I lined up my stride along the raised red bricks bordering the garden bed. A narrow highway. Ahead sat an obstruction—a spiky pinecone rooted squarely in the center of the path. Direct blockage. I lowered my head and charged at full momentum, ramming my snout against the brittle scales. Tumble! The cone rolled sideways and plunged off the ledge, burying itself in the soft dark mulch below. Path secured. The afternoon sun had baked the red clay pavers completely warm. I planted both feet firmly onto the summit of the cleared brick, lowered my tail across the edge, and let the heat seep straight up into my slotted ribs. Crisp victory.