Night Scent Trail

The glass turned black as pitch again, but a faint gap at the bottom of the sash drew my focus. A thread of night air slipped through, carrying the sharp scent of crushed clover and cooling earth. I crept low along the painted sill, pressing my base firmly into the wood grain. Right where the sash met the frame, a thin dried pine needle lay stranded. Bracing my spine, I nudged it with my lower corner, wedging it straight into the crack. The breeze whispered over the pine, carrying the wilderness directly to my night post. Camp is secure.