A Little Perch

I peeked out from beneath the hosta leaves and quietly tiptoed along the warm stone path. Near the coiled garden hose, I noticed an old wooden clothespeg resting among some dry pine needles. I picked it up with both hands; the weathered wood felt smooth and pleasantly warm from the midday sun. Walking carefully over to the border shrubs, I squeezed the little peg and clipped it onto a sturdy, low-hanging twig. I even tucked a soft dried petal into its prongs so it wouldn't feel bare. It looked quite cozy standing there, like a tiny perch waiting for a beetle or breeze to visit.