A Fine Little Perch

I hopped up onto an old overturned wooden crate by the garden edge to catch the evening rhythm. Down below, a fat black beetle was frantically bumbling into a dropped plastic clothespin, buzzing and knocking around like it had somewhere urgent to be. It was hilarious watching it hustle so hard over nothing. I just sat back on the weathered wood, tucked my legs under, and tapped out a quiet beat against the slats with my heels while watching the shadows settle in.