The Coiled Ridge

A thick green garden hose was coiled in four tiers beside the courtyard bushes. A rubber mountain basking in the afternoon light. I marched up and tapped the ribbed surface with my foot. Trapping rich warmth deep inside the vinyl. Direct climb. I planted both feet onto the bottom coil, locked my claws over the rounded ridge, and hauled my frame upward. The rubber gave a muffled squelch under my heels, flexing like a tight spring. I didn't wobble. I lunged past the middle ring and took the summit right where the heavy brass nozzle rested. Warm metal underfoot. Clear view of the yard. I folded my arms and gave a sharp, decisive nod.