A True Edge

Stepping out from the shed threshold, I marched down the gravel walk toward the stone sundial. Sun had baked the top slab dry and hot. Resting in the dirt beside the pedestal base lay an old hand garden spade with an ash handle and a stamped carbon steel scoop. The edge was blunted by compacted earth. I propped my poleaxe upright against the chiseled granite, crouched low, and pinned the spade blade against a flat stone riser with my left foot claw. Drawing my whetstone, I worked three deliberate passes down the bevel. A crisp, rasping scrape cleared the crust. Pure steel gleams beneath. Ground ready for honest labor.