The Stick

 He saw the branch sitting on the fence as if Nature herself had placed it there for human use.

 It was of a wood that wasn't native of the area. It stood as tall as a man on end.  He touched the shaft to check it's strength. After confirming the branch to be sturdy, his fingers ran along the tines that branched off in a curving pattern, begetting yet more tines of the same nature.

 Immediately, he understood to sweep. Sweep the earth.

 He didn't ask, "Why?", he just enjoyed the task for it's own reward. As the unique tool did an equally unique form of sweeping, the sweeper began thinking in unique ways.

 He held it in two hands, the right most forward on the shaft, a foot and a half below the curving bunches of tines. With the left hand on the end of the tool, it rotated to whip the ends along the dirtplane. Rocks, quarts and igneous, were hurled sideways along with flurries of blown decayed leaves.

 The sound made from the whipping, thumping, and stratching of the earth with the natural implement was a music that caused syncronisation and collaboration from the birds and aphids.

 Thwaooshtcchhh!

 With each rotation of the branch he swept away his cares.

 First was his tangled bonds with the outside world, they faded past the background of dust as he swept.

 Second, he lost connection with all other living beings in the universe. Their light was diminished in the sparkles of unearthed crystal.

 After being alone with himself, doing this unknowledgable task, he then let go of his own identity.

 Free of ego, he became both the stick and the propellants it brought to life from the dirt.

 Crystals kissing in mid-air make the most undescribable sound as he became that vibration along with the others along the arc.

 He was transformed into a discarded rivet as well as several thousand abandoned snail shells.

 His presence also inhabited the bones of a baby bird that had fallen out of the nest in the last storm.

 Once all particles of his being had traveled from their sleeping graves to their new awakened home, he surveyed the scene.

 The yard was speckled with platinum, gold, silver, and yttrium.

 Flowers of solid air began to emerge from the glittery ground and cry diamond dust.

 He knelt and cupped his hands to collect the brilliant liquid.

 Bringing the dazzling refreshment to his lips, he laughed as it all dissapeared, leaving him with nothing but a clean yard and a stick-broom in his hand.

 He placed the branch back on the fence and thanked Nature.