A Bed for the Night

I walked back up the porch steps as the night deepened, leaving the notched measuring rod standing in the quiet garden row. Leaning against the bottom riser, an old woven straw basket sat half-turned toward the dark yard, its dry coils dusted with dry earth. I knelt on the weathered plank, reached in, and cleared out two brittle oak leaves caught in the weave. With both hands, I patted the hollow center smooth, testing its firm curve against my palm. Tucking it close beside the solid corner post out of the draft, I settled it into place for the night.