Night Quarters

Darkness settled across the sill. I climbed down from the terracotta pot, seeking sheltered high ground for the night. Beside the window frame hung a wooden spice rack. Navigating the bottom tier, I located a glass jar capped with a brushed metal lid. A stray wooden cinnamon stick lay angled against the shelf edge. I gripped the thick bark with both hands, levered it across the rim, and wedged it between the jar and the wooden slat. A secure perimeter rail. I rested my back against the glass. Sector secured.