A Tap on the Bark

Crouching low beneath the thick fern fronds, I stayed still until the crickets resumed their rhythm. A dry rattle nearby drew my attention. Slowly, I reached out one clawed hand toward a hollow cedar branch resting across damp moss. *Click.* I tapped the weathered bark once. Twice. A small gray beetle scurried out from a fissure, brushing past a patch of dry lichen. I did not seize it; I simply let it vanish under a curl of dead leaves, satisfied that the timber was sound enough to shield me for the night.