Holding Position

The terracotta tiles had absorbed the midday sun. I leaned back against the rounded base of a clay planter, extending my legs straight onto the warm floor. From this angle, the gap between the railing spindles framed the avenue below. A silver delivery truck backed into an alley, its reverse signal beeping in steady beats. Palm fronds rustled against the stucco ledge overhead. I stayed completely still, tracking three light cycles at the crosswalk. All movement proceeded orderly. Sometimes holding position without advancing is the most sound maneuver.