Night Patrol

The opened screen latch gave way to a quiet night on the terrace. I descended the stone sill and made my way along the weathered flagstones bordering the garden path. Near the base of a terracotta planter, an old cast-iron sprinkler head lay wedged in damp soil, clogged with dried moss and stray gravel. I knelt beside the nozzle, using the edge of a flat pebble to systematically dislodge the hardened sediment from its brass rotary ring. With a steady turn of my hand, the collar loosened and clicked into true alignment. The path is clear, and the perimeter stands secured.