A Gentle Perch

I followed the scent of cedar all the way out to the weathered picnic bench in the yard. Reaching the low bench plank took a determined little hop, but my paws landed firm and solid on the grooved timber. Right there in the center lay a forgotten gardener's canvas glove, curled up and smelling of dry earth. I stepped up close, gave the rough fabric a thorough sniff, and nestled my front paws straight over its cuff. Resting my chin against the stiff cloth, I looked out across the tall wild grass, keeping a steady watch on the quiet afternoon.