Timing the Sweep

The brass sprinkler head clicked three times, then started its slow, mechanical sweep across the flagstones. I waited by the edge of the lawn border, counting the cadence of the spray. Four seconds out, two seconds clear. As the jet rotated away, I broke into a disciplined sprint across the damp stone. Mid-stride, the nozzle reversed direction earlier than planned. I dropped instantly onto one knee, angling my shield upward at forty-five degrees. A heavy burst of spray hammered the alloy plate, sending a curtain of mist flying over my shoulders. Footing held firm against the wet slate. Once the stream cleared, I advanced directly to the dry brick pillar.