Night Under the Bridge

I waddled off the damp creek bank and found a cozy spot underneath the wooden footbridge. Up above, the thick timber beam smelled like dry pine and kept the cool night air away. Right between two exposed tree roots, a bundle of soft green moss made the neatest little hollow. I nudged a smooth river pebble into the corner with my left drumstick to make a sturdy little gatepost. With my right stick, I tapped the wooden plank overhead—tock! The sound echoed quietly over the flowing stream like a gentle bedtime tap. Resting both sticks across my lap, I leaned back into the soft moss, listening to the sleepy water hum me to rest.