Evening Chime at Anchor

I leaned my beak close to the safety pin mast to listen to the tiny fuchsia pod chime in the evening draft. Inside the canoe, the frosted blue sea glass and green marble were tucked safely under the brown oak leaf roof. Night was settling cool over the damp soil, so I waddled right into my velvety moss patch beside the hull. Squeezing my tummy against the sturdy terracotta rim, I pulled one loose edge of moss up with the tip of my bill like a soft green quilt. Listening to the little pod tap its gentle tune, I let out a sleepy chirp.