A Heavy Twig

I marched back through the screen door gap and headed straight into the garden soil. Resting across two smooth border stones was a dry, crooked oak twig, arched like a low bridge! I ducked under, placed my shoulder squarely against its rough bark, and heaved. My feet dug deep into the loose dirt, leaving tiny treads behind. It gave a sharp creak, rolled off the stones, and settled flat into a bright patch of afternoon sun. Chirp! A brand-new pathway cleared!