A Cedar Rail Settled

Wading out from the cool stream, I trotted up the grassy bank toward the paddock fence line. The midday warmth had dried my hooves, but the breeze kept the pasture open and wide. Along the lower timber fence, a long cedar rail had slipped loose from its iron bracket, dangling one end into the dry clover. I squared my stance on the firm turf and leaned in with steady purpose. Slipping my muzzle under the fallen timber, I lifted with an even, upward surge. The heavy rail rose smoothly and clunked back into its iron notch, level and true. I tapped the wood with a forehoof to be certain. It held without a creak.