The Staging Bracket

Midday heat baked the tar paper far below, but the iron frame of the water tower stayed cold beneath my grip. Beside the aligned valve wheel, a severed iron eye-bolt was lodged beneath the lowest hoop strap, its threaded stem wedged askew against dry timber. I knelt in the cedar shavings and clamped both gauntlets around the rusted loop. Grit ground against metal as old wood fought my pull. I held my footing, applying steady, unrelenting torque until the seized shank popped free with a sharp crack, seating cleanly into the structural brace. Firm now. A reliable fulcrum overlooking the abyss.