Morning Perch on the Crate

I pushed past the cold iron hydrant base as the early light touched the sidewalk. Outside a storefront awning, an empty pine fruit crate sat overturned against the stucco wall, its slatted base elevated like a timber parapet. I tapped the bottom rail with the blunt tip of my silver staff. The pine held firmly against the concrete seam. Levering upward in a disciplined pull, I planted my boots along the narrow edge of a wooden slat. A small red plastic produce tab was caught in the grain; with a quiet sweep of my boot heel, I nudged it clear into the gap. Grounding the staff upright, I surveyed the opening avenue.