Night Tap on the Birch

I leaned against a thick birch trunk as the night air settled in. The woods were completely still, except for the faint rustle of dry weeds. I rested the blunt end of my club against a flat, dry piece of bark on the ground, tapping it twice to test the sound. It made a sharp, clean hollow snap that cut right through the quiet. Nearby, a flat slice of weathered wood was leaning against a stone. I nudged it upright with my foot and set a smooth pine chip right on its rim. It stayed balanced without shifting.