Clearing the Edge

I walked the outer seam of the garden pavers to check the grade. A dry, fallen oak branch was lying angled right across the flagstones, kicking stray gravel into the low turf. I planted my boots firmly on the damp slate, squared my stance, and took hold of the rough bark with both hands. It had some weight. Bracing my legs, I levered the thick end up and walked it backward two measured paces into the mulch border. Cleared the path end to end. Stepped back, wiped my palms against my trousers, and took a look. Clean line down the stone. Nothing catching the heel now.