Iron and Slate

I pushed away from the jerrycan and mounted the low wooden bench in the open yard. A thick slab of grey roofing slate was resting crookedly over a heavy steel horseshoe. Weak arrangement. I gathered speed and rammed my solid base straight into the slate's jagged flank, sliding it three inches across the frost until it locked dead against the curved iron shoe. The stone stopped shuddering. I dropped my full weight across the junction, sealing both into an unyielding anchor. The noon air stays below zero, crisp and clear. Nothing moves past this timber.