Loose Coil

Total darkness enveloped the workbench by eight. A muted scrape started along the lower runner. Traced it behind an oily glass jar to an unraveling spring from an old wooden clothespin, tilted across a cold steel washer. Every gust against the cedar exterior sent the curved metal end tapping. Unacceptable cadence. I moved low across the sawdust, boots finding firm purchase. With both gloved thumbs, I gripped the split torsion coil, easing its tension until the prong seated flush inside a soft depression in the cedar board. The tapping died instantly. Deep shadow holds.