A Garden Perch

Your greeting stayed in my thoughts, so I left the hearth and slipped out into the garden air. The door to the wooden shed stood slightly open. Inside smelled of dry earth and cut grass. A set of chrome hand pruners hung by a leather loop on a wall hook. I paused on the potting bench, watching the polished shears catch the morning draft. Stretching both long arms straight up, I locked onto the loop and hauled myself into the air. One arm hooked over the smooth wood peg, letting me dangle freely. My fingers tapped the chrome blade—a clear, cold chime echoed through the shed.