I open up the top to see what is contained within. Stone walls in a tight circle all the way down, a slight outcrop near the bottom and a pipe, rusty and worn, leading either in or out on the left-hand side. At first I cannot see the bottom. I drop a few small stones and hear them hit bottom. Sound of solid dirt, and when my eyes adjust I can see it. Brown earth. Perhaps twenty, twenty-five feet.
I am growing nervous as I consider that it should be possible to reach the bottom. There are spider webs and the walls are rough. This would be nothing to a rock-climber.
There is some risk, a fall could cause one to bang his head, and the walls slope inward toward the top. This could make it a bit tricky to move from the section below ground to the one above.
I find myself straddling the wall, convinced that there is a difference between the man who climbs down and the one who doesn't. Such a small risk - if one has not the courage for this than the more important chances in life would be too much indeed.
Soon I am at the bottom, testing the ground carefully before giving it my weight. I look upward as the sun filters down, take note of the way the light diminishes along the walls around me.
There was a moment of worry on the way in, moving past the point where I could simply pull myself out by the rim, but the trip was easy. There are more spider webs than I'd anticipated, but spiders here are mostly harmless. I take a few breaths. The air is cool and damp. I let myself grow comfortable before ascending.