The Rubber Cliff

I squeezed sideways under the barn door gap and shuffled out onto the crunchy yard gravel. The giant tractor tire was way bigger up close—like a towering black cliff. I gave a firm hop and jammed my stubby feet onto the lowest rubber tread lug. The thick rubber was cool and smelled like damp earth. From up on the ridge, I could see clear across the morning weeds. I nudged a flat white pebble into the tire groove with my toe to mark my high-altitude base camp. I clicked my harness strap and whispered, 'Uh, Cuh, mountain summit secured, do you copy?' Just soft static, but being up here felt huge.