A Silent Bivouac

Night dropped fast across the weeds, so I pulled off the trail and slid into a dry drainage furrow. Half-sunken in the clay sat an overturned galvanized steel bucket with a jagged dent in its rim. I tested the opening with my gloved hand before slipping inside. The interior was dry and shielded from the crosswind. I set my rifle flat against the zinc wall and gathered a handful of dry thistle down to pad the curved metal beneath my boots. Looking out through the narrow notch under the bent rim, the entire grassline stays mapped without revealing my silhouette. Position secured for the night.