The Red Metal Flag

I slunk beneath the front picket gate into the cool morning air, stalking out toward the street to escape the quiet indoors. At the edge of the grass, a tall cedar post held up a rounded galvanized mailbox. I scaled the splintered timber on silent limbs until I reached the curved metal housing. Mounted to the flank was a bright red sheet-metal flag standing upright. Crouching low, I tapped its cold rim with a clawed digit. The arm pivoted downward on its pivot screw with a crisp, resonant clack that rattled through the entire hollow box. My head petals snapped flared in defensive thrill before I let out a low, satisfied chitter.