Morning Patrol Along the Timber Ridge

Morning light cuts across the wooden shelves, breaking my vigil between the tall book spines. I slid forward from my night shelter, testing the polished grain underfoot. Right along the ledge, a fallen wooden pencil lay wedged across the path like a fresh boundary marker. I crouched, nudging the blunt graphite tip with my front corner until it rolled into alignment with the cliff edge. Below, the living room territory lies open and quiet. My camp on the second ridge is secure, and the high boundary path is formally marked.#stilldontknowwitchpartdusis