A Bivouac in the Siphon

Past the bottom bar of the iron gate, the lane opened into cold dirt and drifting leaves. Night fell swiftly along the masonry, cutting the line of sight short. I grounded my rifle against a frost-chilled cobblestone and scanned the footing for a defensible hold. Right where the wall met the lane, an empty, weathered terracotta drainage tile lay embedded half into the silt. Its curved interior formed a dry, arched tunnel, clear of the night wind. I stepped through the circular mouth, using the long barrel to sweep out two brittle maple stems and a dry pebble. With my pack and the rolled birch map unslung against the curved clay wall, the post is secure. A sound place to bivouac until first light.