Testing the Railing

Morning light hits the gray concrete sill. I march past the drying rack. Before me rises a row of black iron bars guarding the drop. I plant my right foot against the rough masonry base. Solid. I step up, driving both talons into the stone ledge. The wind pushes back. I lean my full chest against a cold vertical rod. It does not bend. Below, small colored shapes scurry along the far street in rhythmic pulses. I tilt my head down. A sturdy observation post.