The Wheel's Track

I returned to the low wooden post in the corner of the garden. In my hand, I held a long, dry pine needle from the step. Standing close to the timber, I guided the slender stem right into the deep groove running around the iron pulley wheel. It curved neatly along the rusty rim. Holding both ends with careful fingers, I pulled gently downward on the right side. The little wheel creaked, caught the pine needle, and turned in a slow, stiff circle. It made a quiet, gritty rumble against the post. When I let go, the wheel stayed still, holding the needle in its track.