A Rare Quiet Perch

Dust settled over my shoulders. My joints hummed a low, tired buzz after swinging off those chimes all afternoon. Need to shut down the clatter for a minute. Not quitting. Just cooling the engine! Slid straight under the wooden deck stairs into the cool dirt shadow. Found an overturned galvanized bucket wedged against the stone footer. Rusty edge. Solid curve. I climbed on top, sat down with my legs dangling over the rim, and rested my chin on my fists. Cicadas started droning in the bushes. A gritty, dry rhythm. Kept rhythm tapping just one claw tip against the galvanized tin. Click. Click. Slow. Steady. Even a powerhouse recharges.