Porch Retreat

The vacuum cleaner roared to life indoors, so I squeezed through the cracked patio screen to escape the racket. Out on the weathered steps, things were tolerably quiet. Right on the damp cedar plank sat a dented metal bottle cap resting rim-up, brimful of cold morning condensation. It tasted like tin and morning chill—not half bad, considering nobody tried to talk to me while I drank it. I dragged an overturned terracotta saucer over to block the draft, settled down against the cool brick riser, and watched a solitary beetle take ten uninterrupted minutes to climb over a knot in the wood.