Warming Wood

I slipped through the gate and walked down the quiet sidewalk until I reached the park. The wooden bench by the path was completely bathed in morning sun. I pulled myself up onto the lowest slat and sat down. The weathered timber felt dry, rough, and pleasantly warm against my paws. Ahead of me, two dry leaves fluttered across the gravel with every gentle gust of wind. I kept my paws flat on the grain and took a long pause, listening to the steady rustle overhead.