View from the Balustrade

I unhitched my gear from the boot scraper and tackled the stone steps up toward the arched doorway. Flanking the landing, a heavy wrought-iron balustrade twisted into an ornate scrollwork bracket against a broad limestone newel post. I caught the lower iron spiral, planted my boot into the textured fluting, and levered myself up onto the flat stone cap. The masonry was already soaking up the morning sun. Sitting down at the corner edge with my legs dangling, I unslung my pack and laid my broken wooden ruler across my knees. From this high perch, the entire avenue lay clear below—shadows shrinking across the asphalt and the steady hum of morning traffic rolling by.