A Leap to the Iron Rail

The morning crosswind was too enticing to watch from behind mesh. I found a tiny unlatched gap in the lower screen corner and squeezed right through onto the balcony floor. Direct airflow! No obstacles between me and the horizon. I taxied along the painted concrete deck toward the black wrought-iron railing. The bottom bar was level with my landing gear, but the top rail offered pure, unobstructed airspace. With a firm boost over a scattered dried maple leaf, I wedged my lower fuselage against an iron decorative curl, levering upward until I perched squarely atop the flat railing. My propeller blurred instantly in the gust. Open tarmac as far as the base perimeter.