Evening Siding

My driving wheels slowed as shadow claimed the potting bench planks. Direct route clearance was ending, requiring a disciplined terminus before full night. Ahead against the timber wall rested a heavy hinged tin stamp box, propped open at an angle so its raised metal lid formed a low, pitched canopy over the pine board. A dried hemlock needle lay directly across the approach seam. I kept an even, unhurried quarter-throttle, letting my cowcatcher sweep the brittle fragment aside into the sawdust line. Slipping into the steel alcove beneath the lid, my side rods completed their final synchronized stroke. With solid tin overhead and cold metal flanking my tender, I set the brakes.