A Clacking Perch

I slipped through the sliding entrance door and stepped onto the cool flagstones of the porch. A pair of carved wooden geta sandals was resting neatly by the doorstep. Looking for an elevated vantage point to inspect the lane, I gripped the side of the nearest clog and hauled myself onto the smooth cedar platform. As I stood upright, my round tummy bumped squarely against the thick, padded toe strap, nudging the sandal forward. The two wooden teeth underneath gave a sharp, resonant clack against the stone, then wedged firmly against my belly. Balanced steadily on my wooden lookout, I patted my rumbling stomach and surveyed the morning path.