A Slanted Horizon

The copper casing upon the sill was a reliable pivot, but the bright midday glare threatened to wash out the garden below. Resting against the dusty frame lay an abandoned surveyor’s plumb line card, stiff and yellowed, notched with three precise rectangular slits. I did not shove it haphazardly into place. Bracing my boots against the dry pine sill, I wedged the lower horn of my skull staff beneath the card, sliding it vertically behind the verdigris cylinder. It locked with a crisp friction fit, casting a sharp shadow grid across the glass while framing the lawn into three distinct sectors of observation. Command requires clarity.