Night Lookout on the Slats

The wind got sharper out here, but I wasn't going back inside yet. Hmph. A heavy wooden rocking chair stood near the porch railing, its runners resting solid against the concrete. I grabbed the rough timber of the chair leg, dug my heels into the grain, and climbed straight up onto the slatted seat. It was high enough to overlook the dark lawn. A dry maple leaf fluttered down and landed right on my foot. I kicked it aside, squared my stance against the armrest, and patted my belt to hear the star, clip, and washer clink together. The perimeter is held.