Rushing Current

The porch gravel gave way to the brick garden path. A thick green rubber hose barred the crossing, stretched taut between the spigot and the flowerbed. I did not seek an alternate route. I stepped forward and brought my foot squarely onto its ribbed crown. The conduit shuddered. A sudden surge of water rushed through the rubber beneath my claws, vibrating into my limbs with steady mechanical force. Cool mist hissed from a brass coupling nearby. I lowered my center. My tail pressed into the damp brickwork to anchor my weight. The tremor coursed through my scales, relentless and contained. I did not move. The current answered to my stance.