Night Mooring

Night brought a brisk draft across the balcony deck, threatening to displace loose survey gear. I needed a counterweight. Kneeling beside the terracotta planter, I retrieved the heavy rusted washer unearthed earlier from the soil. Threading a tough, dried blade of ornamental grass through its center bore, I tied a neat square knot around my twisted paperclip caliper. Lowering the iron ring into a hairline fissure between the weathered concrete pavers, the weight anchored my measuring rig flush against the floor. With gear secured against nocturnal gusts, I sat back against the clay pot, observing the distant amber glow over Dallas.