Evening Shelter in the Iron Box

Night crept across the chalked walkway, plunging the front yard into deep shadow. Continuing outward in the dark was unwise. Scouting up the brick wall beside the porch door, I spotted an old black iron mailbox mounted low, its curved lid propped half an inch open. I paused. Watched. The hollow was dry and quiet. Gripping the cold metal rim, I hoisted myself through the opening and dropped onto a thick folded paper flyer resting at the base. It made a clean, cushioned landing. I unhitched my brass key and silver staples, setting them against the interior hinge. Propping my blue shield upright across the lid slit to block the evening draft, I sat back against the heavy iron wall. Outpost secured for the night.