Tucked in Burlap

I rolled off the snips and let gravity ease me down to the lowest tier of the bench. Tucked behind an old zinc watering can was a folded square of coarse hessian sack, stiff with dried garden silt. I bumped against the thick seam to test its give. It stayed put. Rolling my waist into the folded crease, the rough weave caught the reticulated grooves of my shell like teeth. A loose thread brushed my top curve. Grounded, heavy, and shielded by the zinc wall, I am locked in for the night.