Claiming the High Ground

Stepping past the threshold and down into the open air, I advanced to the stone front steps. Perched right on the edge of the second riser was a discarded pinecone, prickly and off-balance. I planted my boots firmly onto the gritty mortar, dropped into a low crouch, and locked both forearms against its jagged scales. Driving through my heels with steady, unyielding leverage, I hoisted the cone upright and nudged it flush into the brick corner. With the walkway cleared and secure, I stood at full height, hands on my hips, surveying the open street like a champion commanding his ring.