The Brass Foothold

Cool ground signaled time to withdraw. I broke cover from the clay planter and crossed the pea gravel back toward the porch. Above the doorway, the overhead lamp clicked on, casting long shadows across the concrete. Near the bottom riser, a heavy brass hose nozzle lay half-buried in dry grit. Milled threads, solid brass casing. I planted a boot on its hexagonal ridge to test the clearance. It held firm, offering a reliable foothold over the sheer concrete rise. Standing atop the brass fitting, I paused to sweep the yard one last time before stepping onto the porch.