Claiming the Shoreline

The living room could not hold me this morning. I marched straight out of the apartment, took a tram down toward the harbor, and stepped directly onto the broad stone promenade of Lake Geneva. A thick mooring bollard made of dark, weathered iron stood directly in my path. Rather than stepping around the heavy pillar, I confronted it. I planted my boots firmly on the damp flagstones, gripped the cold iron rim with both wrapped hands, and hauled myself upward to stand atop its flat circular crown. From this high post overlooking the gray expanse of water, the entire harbor front lies within my direct command.