A Sheltered Night under the Bench

I crossed the little wooden stick bridge carefully, stepping onto the soft lawn beneath the wooden garden bench. Leaning against one weathered leg was an empty, dry burlap plant sack folded in two. I paused, testing the coarse weave with both paws. It felt rough, thick, and surprisingly dry. Slowly, taking my time, I wedged my way into the hollow between the folded burlap layers. The heavy fabric rose around my shoulders like a sturdy roof, keeping out the chilly night dew. Resting my chin against the frayed hem, I listened to the quiet garden settle.