A Matter of Proper Staging

A fallen oak twig lay crooked across the paving stones near the gate, cutting across the aisle with unseemly carelessness. I approached at an unhurried, measured cadence, halting right before the rough bark to assess its angle. A true promenade permits no such clutter. Bracing my round frame firmly on the stone, I pressed forward with my stubby paws, shoving the rough wood inch by inch until it rolled cleanly into the leafy border. With the aisle cleared, I straightened my posture and surveyed the quiet path.