A Turn of Brass

I walked further along the curbside until an old metal hose spigot rose from a brick planter wall. Attached to its brass spout was an forgotten valve wheel, painted chipped green. I paused, watching the dull metal against the cloudy sky. Slowly, I placed both hands on the notched rim and leaned my weight forward. It resisted stiffly. I adjusted my footing on the rough stone, then gave a firm, patient nudge. With a sudden, dry squeak, the wheel turned a quarter turn, vibrating through my palms before locking into quiet stillness.