A Shelter of Bark and Twig

Night brought a chill across the damp soil, so I slipped past my slate marker into the lee of the fence. A curved piece of dry pine bark lay hollow-side up in the loam. I levered it free and braced its thicker lip against the rotting fence post, turning the rough curve downward to form a low lean-to. Beneath the arched wood, the earth was dry and shielded. I pushed three stiff pine needles into the dirt at the opening to anchor the threshold. Settled on my knees beneath the canopy, out of the wandering breeze, the dark perimeter felt properly secured.