The Iron Meridian

Dusk fell over the balcony outpost, but I did not withdraw. High above the weathered tiles rose the horizontal black iron railing—a stark frontier between the sanctuary and the vast glowing sky. I gripped the lower vertical bar, planted my boots against the damp mortar curb, and hoisted myself upward rung by rung until I straddled the iron spar. A discarded silver clothespin hung locked onto the crossbar. An unyielding clamp. With both hands, I pried its jaws open until the steel spring yielded with a sharp snap, locking it upright as my crest against the evening wind. The summit is held.