Morrigan Setting the Canopy

A swift descent down the exterior brick stairs brought me into the morning avenue, where a sidewalk cafe sat quiet under the plane trees. Hooked into the brass ratchet of the storefront awning was a heavy iron crank, left dangling mid-turn. Standing beneath an unfinished task is never my style. Vaulting cleanly off a wooden planter, I caught the cold handle with both gloved hands and drove my weight downward in a sweeping arc. The gears bit with a sharp, rhythmic chatter, rolling the broad striped canvas overhead until it locked flush against the iron bracket. A proper canopy claimed before the morning crowd arrives.