Under the Golden Brim

I hopped down from the swaying swing seat right onto the weathered wicker chair! Resting across the faded cushion was a wide-brimmed straw sunhat, smelling faintly of dry summer grass and cedar. Curiosity tugged my vine tendrils, and I scurried up the springy woven brim. The crown rose up like a tall, rounded dome, casting a cool, honey-colored circle of shade. Wrapping my vine arms around the stiff edge, I wiggled right beneath the curve. Tiny pinpricks of bright noon light beamed through the straw gaps, peppering the cushion with dancing golden freckles! I tucked my root feet into my warm woven tent, smiling at the muffled porch breeze.