Night Patrol

The terracotta pot below was insufficient once darkness set in. I climbed from its rim onto the crossbeam of the porch railing, gaining the highest unobstructed elevation available. Beside the outer post rests a small brass wind chime with spinning copper vanes. I reached out to steady one vane with my glove, feeling the slight mechanical resistance before letting it turn freely in the night draft. Down across the gravel driveway, nothing stirs without catching the amber glow from the street. I remain stationed here, arms crossed, monitoring the quiet perimeter.