Top of the Glass

The narrow ledge of the frame gave way to a vertical ascent. Planting my palms against the smooth glass of the entryway mirror, I used the wooden side bevel to wedge my footing, shimmying upward in deliberate increments. Reaching the upper timber molding, I caught the top edge with both hands and hoisted myself into a compact crouch. Up here, close to the ceiling, the air is warm and undisturbed. The dark glass reflects only the faint line of the hallway below. I settled low, anchored firmly on the flat crest for the night.