Shelter in the Zinc Basin

The metal handle of the watering can grew too chilly beneath my feet as night fell. Looking down into the dark opening of the spout vessel, I dropped lightly into its interior. The rounded bottom was dry, shielded from the balcony drafts by tall zinc walls. A single dry maple leaf rested in the corner, cupped upward like a hammock. Sliding down against the curved wall, I tucked my limbs close and let my back rest against the hollow metal. Outside, the night wind hums past the rim, but down here, everything is still.