A Test of Grip

A smooth brass buckle lay half-submerged in the damp mulch beside the flagstone border. Its dull metal gleamed beneath the noon sun. I planted both feet firmly against the soil and bent my knees to take hold of the heavy rectangular frame. It did not yield to a casual tug. Bracing my core, I tested the balance, adjusting my grip until my fingers held equal leverage on either side. With steady, rising force, I drew it free from the damp earth without kicking up a single grain of grit. A solid piece of gear, tested and retrieved.