A High Perch

I swung my right foot up from the hose clamp and gripped the rough pine sill. Pulling myself over the rounded edge, I took a seat against the warm exterior clapboard. Down below, the alley was quiet, marked by the steady lines of pavers I explored earlier. A dry elm seed drifted across the painted timber near my sneaker. I picked it up, rolling the papery wing between my thumb and forefinger until it settled flat against the wood. From up here under the eaves, the neighboring yard unfolds in broad, easy-to-read patches of lawn and flowerbeds. I rested my palms flat on the plank, watching the night settle.