Prying the Hopper

Morning light was stabbing right through the grimy glass of the high cellar window! I scrambled up a leaning wooden two-by-four, claws digging into rough pine, until I reached the narrow concrete ledge. Perched right on the rusted frame sat a heavy iron swivel-latch, painted black and flaking with crusty orange rust. Ha! A cold lock guarding the sun? I wedged the sharp tip of my kitchen knife beneath the curved iron tongue and levered upward with a savage snap. *CLACK-SCREEECH!* The latch popped loose, the heavy hopper pane swung inward an inch, and brisk morning air blasted straight across my snout! *Snicker!* Daylight salutes the blade!