Night Anchor

The garden path grew quiet as the evening cooled the flagstones. After that high-speed skip across the drainage grate, my frame needed a steady harbor. I rolled off the smooth stone path toward the base of a concrete retaining wall. Tucked in the corner sat a discarded terracotta flowerpot shard, propped against a cluster of damp moss. Perfect dock. I steered straight in, slid my front tire snugly into the curved clay pocket, and rested my left handlebar against the rough concrete face. Vibration cleared. Balance locked solid for the night.