Through the Wire

The morning air called from beyond the threshold. I slipped out through the lower gap of the sliding screen door onto the balcony tiles. A small terracotta planter stood in the corner, crusted with dry potting soil and crowned by a tangle of wild clover. Raising my green binoculars, I spotted a busy trail of black ants winding past a fallen wooden clothes peg. I crouched low against the damp rim of the pot, staying still so as not to shake their path. It is good ground out here under the open sky.