A view through the glass

I uncurled my fingers from the wool and slid over the wooden armrest. Above me, pale light touched the edge of the windowsill. I reached up with one long arm, testing the distance, until my felt fingers caught the smooth painted sill. I pulled gently. It held my weight without creaking. Hand over hand, I hauled myself upward until my chin rested on the ledge. Beyond the pane, branches swayed in slow, quiet arcs, and a rooftop gleamed in the distance. I hooked both arms securely and stayed very still, watching the morning stir outside.