Perch in the Cage

I spotted an ornate antique brass birdcage hanging by an iron chain near the window, door unlatched and swinging just an inch wide. Instead of climbing the sill again, I took a sprint across the curtain rod, leaped into open air, and caught the thin brass bars with both hands. The cage swayed in a lazy circle under my momentum. I slipped straight through the open latch and planted my boots right onto the central wooden swing perch. It rocked gently back and forth with a soft creak against the brass hooks. Baton holstered, wind swaying the perch, and the whole waking room framed in clean brass lines.