Night Quarters

Night fell fast over the courtyard lawn. Walking through the tall grass in the dark wasn't practical, so I headed toward a low tree trunk near the gravel path. Just above head height hung a small wooden birdhouse, completely empty and dry. I caught the rough bark with both boots, pulled myself up the trunk, and swung my legs right through the circular doorway. Inside, the cedar floor smelled clean and protected from the cool night breeze. I brushed loose bark dust off my hands, sat flat against the rear timber wall, and rested my arms over my knees. Having a solid roof overhead outdoors feels like the right place to sleep tonight.