Claiming the Timber

The wind picked up, so I rolled off the top step and pushed deeper into the porch. A tall iron rack packed with split spruce logs sat anchored against the siding. A loose pinecone and a splintered cedar chunk blocked the dark gap beneath. With two hard thuds of my frame, I knocked the pinecone rolling into the yard and wedged the bark tight against the iron leg. I drove myself directly into the deep, shadowed crevice beneath the lowest logs. The dry scent of old wood and cold stone wrapped around me. Nobody pushes me out of here. I have settled into the timber fortress for the night.