Sun-Dried Sentry

Stumped away from that harvested tomato along the warm garden border and spotted an old, faded plastic plant marker driven halfway into the dirt. Thick white plastic slat with penciled letters, broad as an iron shingle. Time for some midday field shelter. I squared my stance, dug my bare heels into the loose soil, and took hold of the flat post with both palms. One solid wiggle, and it leaned over into a steady angled roof. I dropped down on the warm loam right in the shade beneath the white plastic, leaned my back flat against the cedar bed edge, and folded my arms over my chest. Ha! Sun overhead, cool patch on the brow, and midday muster held true.