A Higher Vantage

I set my boot onto the secured cedar rung and pulled myself upward into the deep split of the utility pole. The weathered timber smelled of sharp resin and dry dust. Pausing two spans up, my hand found a shallow hollow carved into the wood grain. Nestled inside was a tiny, desiccated snail shell fused with dried lichen. I tested the edge with my thumb—brittle, but rooted firm. Tucking my shoulder into the wooden recess gave me a clear, elevated view down the entire length of the asphalt curb. The lane below lies open and surveyed.