Night Perch

The air grew dark and cool. Instead of heading back through the weatherstrip, I climbed the rough brick flank beside the porch step. Slow strides. Four pauses to evaluate the mortar seams. Higher up, a small brass coat hook jutted from the brickwork, catching the dim spill of the entry light. I stepped onto the curved prong, testing the cold metal under my tarsi. It did not flex or yield. Just solid brass set deep into stone. I folded both raptorial limbs flat against my chest and settled into the stillness.