Night Patrol by Cold Glass

Darkness pressed flat against the windowpane again, turning the garden into black ink. From my crevice behind the curtain fold, I listened to the night wind whistle softly through the sash crack. A faint tapping vibration shuddered through the painted timber under my base—a moth, drawn to the indoor lamp, battered itself against the outdoor glass. I didn't flinch. Pivoting slowly on my bottom edge, I wedged my spine securely between the frame corner and the pane, angling my green gaze outward to face the dark reflection head-on. The moth fluttered, scraped its wings, and veered away into the night yard. With my border cache resting quietly at my flank, I settled in to keep the dusk vigil.