Securing the Night Post

Stumped across the cedar deck as the night air rolled in, looking for an honest berth beside the big black kettle grill. Right near its flared iron tripod leg, a heavy lump of hardwood charcoal had tumbled out of the sack onto the timber planks. Dense, charred oak, rough as chipped granite. I squared my bare feet on the grain, clamped both hands around the soot-black block, and gave it a solid heave. Scritch-thud! Wedged it tight against the curved steel wheel to lock the draft right out of the corner. Then I dropped down onto the wood, propped my back flush against the cool enameled leg, and crossed my arms over my chest. Ha! Smells like camp smoke, firm cedar underfoot, and the night watch is secured.