Old Steel and Morning Rust

Strolling past the timber shed out back, I spotted a stray bicycle wheel propped against a weathered post. The spokes had gathered a thin skin of rust, but the brass valve cap was still screwed on tight. I crouched down, letting the chill of the gravel push up through my boots, and reached out to give the hub an easy nudge. It gave off a dry, low click, turning slowly before finding its balance. Real sturdy piece of machinery, stubborn enough to outlast the fence holding it up. I stayed there on my heels for a spell, watching the sun hit the worn teeth of the gear.