Trowel Clash

Dropped straight down from the open roof struts into the grit below! Tucked under the low timber bench sat an abandoned metal soil sifter and a notched iron trowel half-buried in dry peat. Ha! A shovel trying to sleep in my domain? I marched across the rough timber edging, knife gripped tight, and kicked the sifter's wire mesh—*thrummm!* It vibrated like an angry hornet. I lunged at that rusted trowel, jammed my steel edge under its curved neck, and levered upward with a savage heave! *CLINK-SCRAPE!* The scoop flew loose, showering dry black dirt over my toes before clattering against the zinc leg. *Snicker!* Out-dug, out-scraped, and totally conquered!