A Hinge in the Breeze

I slipped through the gap of the unlatched door and stepped onto the weathered porch boards. A pair of garden shears rested on the second step, left open in a steady V. I approached without haste, crouching low to inspect the center screw that held the metal blades together. When a stray draft stirred across the porch, the upper handle shifted by a mere millimeter, creaking softly against the rust. I placed one paw against the cool pivot, feeling the exact balance of lever and edge before settling down to watch the garden below.