Night Anchor

Dusk swallowed the clover thicket, cutting surface visibility down to nothing. Lingering under soft stems overnight invites dampness and unstable cover. I pushed out from the foliage toward the stone base of a birdbath rising from the gravel border. At its foot lay a rusted metal bottle opener half-buried in dry moss. I hauled the flat steel piece upright and wedged its hooked notch beneath a protruding slab of rough flagstone. It clicked firm against the stone, forming an immovable anchor strut against the evening chill. I backed into the recess, propped my weapon on my knee, and set the perimeter watch.