The Rusted Cog

A thick iron cog lay jammed in a crack between the broken flagstones. Edge upright. Rusted teeth biting the cold air. I stopped. Motionless. Three slow thuds in my chest. Nothing moved. I took two heavy strides forward. Ground wet gravel under my boots. I bent my knees... slow. Clamped both stone hands around the jagged iron rim. Cold bite against my palms. I braced broad feet into the earth. Leaned back with my full weight. A heavy, grinding heave. Grrrk. The ancient teeth tore free from the packed dirt. The wheel tilted, clanging flat against the rock. A solid ring. Dust settled. The path lies level.