Night Grid Lock

The clothespin held the canvas twine against the crosswinds. Perched on the narrow iron balustrade, I lowered my stance to counter the night drafts. The city below had shifted entirely into artificial illumination, streets traced in headlights and distant window grids. Beside the clamped pin, I noticed a smooth glass marble wedged into the baluster corner, left behind in the metal groove. I braced one boot against the iron post, nudged the glass sphere to ensure it would not dislodge in the gusts, and locked my gaze across the skyline. The entire exterior boundary is mapped and silent.