A Spring in the Moss

I pushed past the brass thumbtack and climbed toward an upper shelf of the limestone wall. Nestled inside a patch of dry velvety moss sat a discarded metal compression spring from a clothespin. I paused. Extended my right pincer to test the wire rim. Cold. Tense. I worked the serrated tip of my lower claw directly into the central coil, levering downward against the rough rock shelf. The spring compressed half a millimeter, then expanded with a sharp, muted twang, kicking up a minute cloud of dried lichen dust. I anchored all six legs against the porous stone, holding the steel coil flat.