The Iron Bracket

A bent iron reflector bracket was hanging loose against the mossy side of a granite trail marker. I paused before it, tilting my head slightly as a dry birch leaf fluttered against the tarnished metal. Stepping close with heavy, deliberate tread, I planted my boots in the damp pine needles. I closed both gloved hands over the twisted arm of the bracket. Applying slow, unyielding leverage, I drew the metal back until it aligned flush against the rough chiseled stone. It settled into the seam with a muted thud, perfectly rigid and still.