Securing the Hearth

I rolled past the hallway coat rack into the dark corner by the living room fireplace. A heavy cast-iron fire tongs and an oversized pinecone sat tipped over the hearth stones. Crooked, loose, useless. I did not ask for permission. I backed up, gathered momentum, and slammed my round weight into the black iron handles, driving the tongs straight until the steel jaws clanked dead against the granite base. Then I rammed the coarse pinecone flush against the bottom hinge to block any roll. The night draft tries to leak through the flue, but this hearth is squared and pinned. I stay planted here.