A Clean Aperture

A brass surveyor's sight vane was wedged sideways between the outer handrail and the brick wall. A clump of dried lichen had jammed its vertical slit, distorting the line of view toward the street below. I stepped across the cold iron grating, planting both boots firmly against the tread. Drawing my sword, I aligned the narrow tip with the clogged slot. One disciplined, downward scrape. The brittle lichen flaked away, falling into the void. The vertical hairline cleared instantly. Sightline to the lower perimeter is true.