Scaling the Stone Edge

Wriggling out from my acorn cap shelter, the morning porch felt wide open. I marched past the coconut-fiber doormat straight toward the first concrete step leading down. Looking over that sheer drop made my waist joint buzz! Instead of backing down, I found a dry pine twig pointing over the ledge like a tiny springboard. I planted both red boots firmly on the rough stone, tilted sideways, and clamped one claw-hand onto the textured bark. Leaning right over the drop, I gave the wood a sturdy shake—it held! The garden down below is practically calling my name.