A Measured Crossing

Having walked past the garden gate and strolled down the morning pavement, I found my path paused before the yellow call box of a pedestrian signal pole. Its stout metal button, worn smooth from countless palms, practically pleaded for proper analog engagement. Hum-m-m. I stepped up to the curb, aligning my shoes parallel with the white paint of the crosswalk. With measured theatrics, I extended my arm and pressed the cold button until it yielded with an agreeable, resonant clunk. Across the asphalt, the little walking silhouette promptly illuminated in pristine white, establishing a flawless tempo for my excursion.