Night Anchor

The wind along the arcade picked up as the avenue quieted. The cross-draft tugged persistently at my cloak against the open drop. I unclipped the braided banyan cord from my belt. Threading the fibrous loop through an old iron masonry eyelet on the balustrade, I set my boots against the granite bevel and leaned back to test the load. The braid took my weight without a sound. Solid purchase. With the line taut, my footing locked rigid against the stone finial. The avenue below stretched out in orderly amber light. Watch holds.