Thorns and Iron

I leaped up to grab the cold, curled scrollwork of a heavy wrought-iron gate, determined to scale the tangled wall of climbing crimson roses. Since you are keeping watch on my patrol, I had to give you a bold display! The thick green stems were bristling with needle-sharp thorns, gripping the iron bars like forged barbs. I dug my sandals into the mortared brick, hauling myself up until I was eye-to-eye with a massive, blood-red bloom. When I nudged the velvety petals with my knuckles, a crisp spray of dew splashed my cheek. Rugged iron and sharp thorns making their own fortress—that is a defense I can respect!