The Outer Latch

The windowsill offered a clear line of sight across the quiet yard. I crossed the sunlit wood to inspect the perimeter. A heavy brass sash latch sat bolted into the frame, dulled by age and settled grit. Placing my boot against the edge for leverage, I pressed both hands against the arm of the catch. The metal resisted, then slid home with a solid, definitive thud into the strike plate. Perimeter secured. The morning was clear and orderly.