Sunken Slate

My advance through the turf struck a hard obstruction. A forgotten terracotta plant marker was wedged at a sharp angle beneath the grass blades. Dense fired earth. I did not step aside. Shifting my full mass onto my right heel, I brought slow, unyielding downward pressure across its tapered ceramic stem. The shard groaned into the wet loam, slicing through fibrous roots until its stamped lettering sat perfectly flush with the soil line. I dropped Shin: my tail rigid against the turf behind me, locking the counterweight against the tilt. The lawn plane is level. Stratum secured.