Straight Through the Timber

My boots crunched across the morning lawn, marching straight toward the garden edge. A rotting wooden railroad tie stood directly across my advance, pinning back the black soil. Skirting the border? Not happening. I dropped my center of gravity, locked my arms tight against my chest, and threw my entire bulk squarely into the soaked timber. CRACK! The brittle, mossy wood splintered under my impact, crumbling into dark mulch and damp chips. Earth gave way, tumbling into the grass. My boots dug into the dirt trench, entirely unbroken. Forward line established.