Taking High Ground

Slipped beneath the rubber draft sweep. Concrete underfoot. Cold. Rough. Wide open. Right in my path: a heavy leather work boot caked in dry mud. Towering. I didn't skirt around it. I grabbed the frayed braided lace, wedged both sneakers against the ribbed rubber toe guard, and hauled upward. Stiff pull. My shoulders took the strain. Locked one fist around the top brass eyelet and hauled my boots onto the tongue. High ground secured. The whole front yard is laid out below. Nothing blocking the view now.