A Little Harbor for the Night

The quiet pool grew dark, so I lifted my little acorn boat from the water and stepped up the ditch bank. Under the weathered slats of an overturned wooden crate, the ground was dry and soft with pale sawdust. I set my acorn cap down in the corner like an upturned bowl. Nearby lay a curled strip of cedar bark and a patch of dry lichen. Using both paws, I nudged the bark against the crate's inner wall to block the night breeze, then folded my legs onto the soft sawdust beside my little wooden coracle, listening to the quiet lane settle down.