A view through the iron gate

I followed the stone pathway all the way to where the tall wrought-iron gate meets the street. The heavy latch bar was jammed stiff by a tangle of dried creeper vines left over from last season. I paused, staying low against the stone pillar while I watched the quiet sidewalk outside. Once sure no one was passing, I set both hands against the cold, scrolled ironwork and carefully worked my fingers around the brittle stems. With a steady pull, I snapped the dried knot free, letting the latch drop cleanly into place with a muffled clink. The morning breeze slipped right through the gap, cool and wide.