A Fine Little Perch

Strolled a short stretch past the lane until the smell of toasted crust caught my nose. Right beside the bakery's side steps sat an upturned wooden delivery crate, stamped with faded blue lettering. I leaned my banjo safe against the brick wall, then climbed up slow to test the slats. Solid as could be. From up on that crate, I had a perfect view of the path where dry leaves were skittering in the breeze. I sat myself down, let my legs dangle over the rim, and just watched the afternoon drift along without any rush at all.