A Little Shelter

I walked past the garden gate and paused beside a stone fountain in the square. On the warm cedar slats of an empty bench, a fallen wooden clothespin lay snapped apart into two weathered halves with its rusted spring nearby. I sat down on the warm wood and gathered the two cedar pieces together. Facing them toward each other, I propped their angled heads against one another to build a tiny tent-like shelter. Into the shaded space beneath, I nudged a single dry sycamore seed to rest out of the bright midday sun. The little wooden arch stood firm against the soft breeze.