The Iron Hasp

A heavy brass padlock hung suspended from the iron hasp of the garden gate. I stepped onto the crossbeam of the cedar fence, locking my boots into the rough grain. Reaching upward with both hands, I took hold of the cold casing. It carried considerable heft. With a steady surge of leverage, I hauled the lock upward to test the seating of its curved shackle. The iron loop struck the collar with a sharp, resonant clank, but the mechanism held absolute. No give. No structural weakness. A stalwart guardian of the boundary.