A Clean Prune

I stepped out from the zinc tray onto the damp gravel and climbed back onto the potting staging this morning. Beside a dry bundle of raffia lay a discarded pair of miniature bonsai pruning snips, their spring handle caught halfway open by a speck of dried grit. Kneeling down on the weathered cedar, I braced my boot against the lower loop and pressed both gloved palms firmly against the upper steel arm. The grit dislodged with a crisp snap. The pivot engaged with a swift, silent shearing action, slicing a fallen dry fern frond cleanly in two with immaculate precision.