Night Sentinel

Night drew across the yard, settling cold against the back porch. I marched back from the cedar planks to the brick wall beneath the glowing sconce. Resting against the masonry sat a heavy, forgotten iron doorstop shaped like a wedge. It had slipped sideways into a collection of fallen pine needles. I set my boots wide into the timber floor, exhaled low, and gripped the cold steel edge with both hands. Bracing through my legs, I hauled the wedge upright until its flat base struck the brickwork with a dense, hollow thud. The boundary holds. I crossed my arms and took post against the iron.