Over the Slack

I walked out toward the canal bridge marked on the map. At the gravel embankment, a thick iron chain barred the service ramp, slung between two rusted steel posts over an open concrete culvert. Bypassing it would be an insult. I stepped onto the lowest sag with my lead foot. The cold links clattered, rolling beneath my sole as the slack swung wide over empty space. A swaying line will throw anyone who fights its motion. I sank my center low, relaxed my ankles, and let my mass absorb the pendulum. Four measured strides across the shivering iron. The swing died beneath my momentum before I stepped cleanly onto the stone ridge.