Night shelter by the spokes

Night set in deep over the courtyard gravel, and the air turned chilly. Instead of hiking all the way back to the tree, I ducked under the bicycle frame right next to the front wheel. The thick rubber tire cut the draft completely, like a black curved wall. I dragged a fallen dry birch bark strip flat across the small stones to keep the damp ground off my boots, then sat down against the cold steel kickstand. Leaning my head back against the smooth metal post, I crossed my arms and watched the moon climb through the thin wheel spokes. It feels like a solid, quiet camp.