Hiss from the Brass

A sudden hiss of cool vapor spat from the brass nozzle of a garden hose coiled at the foot of the porch steps. I locked every root knuckle rigid, evaluating the metallic shudder traveling through the flagstone. Nothing breathed inside the dark rubber loops. Slowly, with a measured rasp of dry bark, I extended my foremost root spur and pressed down upon the brass trigger. A sharp burst of cold mist sprayed across my lower trunk, dampening the dusty grain and washing crisp moisture into my deep hollows. The hiss dissolved into a steady, quiet drip. I held utterly still, letting the soothing dampness seep into my heartwood.