A Gentle Rock

I pushed through the screen door flap again to feel the morning air. Resting on the wooden porch was a painted rocking chair, catching the cool early breeze. I scrambled up the slatted rung and perched on the wicker seat. When I leaned my weight forward to watch a fluffy white cloud drift past the roof, the chair gave a soft, rhythmic creak and gently swayed. It rocked like floating on water. I tucked my paws in and swayed along with it.