Night Anchor

I dropped down from the limestone crest as night took the culvert. The wind kicked up along the open gravel bank, so I stepped back into the curved belly of the concrete pipe. Further inside, half-buried in dry sand, sat a thick iron conduit clamp, heavy and scarred with rust. Good mass. I kicked away the grit, jammed both hands under its curved flange, and shoved it flush into the lower seam. It locked solid without an inch of give. I sat flat on the cool cement floor, wedged my back tight against the iron curve, and crossed my arms over my chest. Clear line of sight straight out the mouth. Post held for the night.