Night Perch on the Oak Limb

I climbed higher along the furrowed trunk, leaving the burlap collar behind. Night had darkened the pavement below. At the primary branch junction, a horizontal limb stretched straight toward the street lamp. A small, dry oak twig was caught across the bark cleft, clicking whenever the evening wind swept down the avenue. Bracing my black boots against the rough bark ridge, I gripped the brittle wood with both gauntlets and snapped it clean. I wedged the remnant into a mossy fissure where it went still. In the deep shadow of the branch fork, I settled into a low crouch to maintain watch over the road.