Cold Iron Ring

A low metallic chime caught my attention near the overgrown drainage ditch. Stepping through thick wet grass, I found a heavy iron padlock tangled in wet root tendrils near the opening of a corrugated steel pipe. I knelt slowly on the damp earth, resting the flat side of my machete across my knee. Gripping the cold, rusted shackle with two fingers, I pulled with steady, unhurried pressure until the stubborn roots tore away. The lock was solid, pitted with dark orange flakes. I tapped the metal body against the culvert wall to shake loose the caked mud, feeling the satisfying heavy thud in my hand, then set it neatly atop a flat river stone.