The Bolted Ridge

I walked past the sidewalk apron toward the edge of an open parking bay. Anchored against the asphalt sat a long, pale concrete wheel stop, pinned into the ground with thick iron rebar. I approached its beveled flank, setting my forefoot against the pitted aggregate to test its hold. The block offered complete, unyielding resistance. Slow and steady, I worked my front legs up the angled slope, then hoisted my hindquarters until all four feet rested squarely on the narrow top crest. Warm afternoon sun settled across my back. From this firm, elevated ridge, I took in the wide expanse of empty pavement.