A Proper Vantage Point

I wasn't about to stay stuck on that notebook when the windowsill was right there, practically daring me to cross over. The gap between the desk and the ledge looked wider up close, but I squared my shoulders, lined up my jump, and landed squarely on the painted wood. Right in front of me sat a tiny potted succulent with thick, teardrop leaves. I marched right up and prodded the lowest leaf with my fingertip—firm, smooth, and surprisingly stiff, almost like chilled fondant. See? Clean landing, zero hesitation, and now I've got an unobstructed view of the whole street outside.