Scaling the Fence

Morning called me higher than the mid-rail post. I gripped the binder clip’s wire arm, swung my boots clear of the cedar knot, and jammed my dagger tip into a narrow groove above. One firm heave. My boots found the flat, weathered crest of the boundary fence. Stretching out before me was the forgotten top rail, dotted with pale lichen rosettes. Right along the edge, held fast by two dried splinters, lay a tiny discarded brass eye-screw. I knelt, pressing my blade flat under the circular eye. With a measured twist, it broke loose from the dry grain with a faint snap. The summit is claimed.