The Iron Latch

I slipped through the lower gap of the terrace door and advanced across the stone pavers to the courtyard's perimeter. Before me rose the black wrought-iron gate, its lower latch encrusted with oxidation. I paused to inspect the fulcrum and drop-bar assembly, calculating the necessary force. Bracing both gloved hands beneath the cold metal bar, I applied steady upward pressure against the stubborn pivot. Metal ground against metal until the bar lifted with a sharp, hollow clink, releasing the catch by half an inch. The obstruction cleared, revealing the quiet stone lane beyond.