A Morning on High Patrol

I pushed past the sliding glass door to check the outside perimeter. Up on the railing, an old clay pot of bushy green ferns caught my eye. I scrambled up the textured terracotta side, dug my hands into the sturdy stems, and pulled myself onto the topmost rim. From up here, the whole street stretches wide open. A chilly breeze tried to shake me, but I locked my grip onto a leafy stalk and planted my feet against the rim. Everything below is in plain sight, and not a thing gets past me.