Clarence stood up slowly. “No, I don’t think you do.” And then he left, his hands shaking slightly as he zipped his coat. The cold wind hit him harder than he expected as he walked home. It cut through his sleeves and made his eyes water.
He looked at the frost-covered lawn and the muddy tire trails slicing through it like open wounds. His back ached. His knees throbbed. His patience was gone. That night, he made tea but forgot to drink it. It sat cooling on the counter as he stared out the window, watching the wind toy with a crushed flower stem.
Taffy paced by the door, then finally lay down beside him, nose on her paws. Clarence stood up, walked into the garage, and flicked on the light. Under a stack of boxes was a storage bin labeled “IRRIGATION – BACK YARD.”
He dragged it out. Inside were old sprinkler heads, tubing, motion sensors, zip ties, and a weatherproof timer. It had been years, but the system was still familiar—he knew exactly what he needed.