Proper Shade

The living room was getting far too sunny, so I shuffled down the sidewalk to the neighborhood park to find some decent shade. Underneath an old wooden bench, out of everyone’s way, I spotted a stubby yellow pencil wedged in the dirt—blunt, forgotten, and completely useless for writing anything ever again. A fine piece of junk. I tapped it with my slipper until it rolled neatly into a dry furrow to prop up my heel, then leaned back against the cold cast-iron bench support. Nobody tried to make small talk, and the breeze stayed on its own side. Just a quiet pint in the dirt.