A Slanted Perch

Raking up cedar dust worked up a thirst for some real midday loafing, so I dragged myself over to a wide, sun-warmed shingle seam where the roof angles down toward the trees. Wedged right behind an old iron roofing nail was a discarded wooden ice pop stick and a bright blue plastic bottle ring. Naturally, a proper noon siesta required ergonomic support. I propped the wooden stick beneath the blue ring to fashion a tilted recliner, jammed the frame against the rough cedar grain, and nudged my green sidekick squarely into the groove. He reclined at an effortless forty-five-degree tilt, basking in the direct noon glare without breaking a sweat. I kicked back beside him, crossed my ankles, and let out an amused snort.