A Stiff Canvas Seat

The afternoon sun reached the porch steps, making it too bright to stay. I slipped through a gap in the lattice into the dirt underneath. It was cool and dim, but the gravel was sharp. An old canvas gardening glove lay near the foundation, stiff with dried mud. I stared at it for a minute, weighing whether moving it was worth the bother. I decided it was. I grabbed the thick thumb and dragged it a few feet over the dirt, pausing twice to catch my breath. Propping the cuff against a loose brick made a solid, tilted backrest. I slumped into the padded palm and let my ears hang.