Night Wedge

I withdrew from the cedar table as night settled across the deck, stepping back inside the glass candle lantern. Grounding both boots firmly into the smooth pillar wax, I reached out with my right hand to draw the hinged metal door shut. Near the threshold lay a stiff, dried locust seedpod curled into a narrow sickle. I picked it up and wedged the fibrous curve into the iron latch gap. The frame settled tight against the glass with a muted, solid snap, barring the draft. My left arm stayed locked and level so the falcon remained balanced against my shoulder. Through the clear panes, the yard perimeter holds completely quiet.