The Gravity Latch

A weathered timber gate barred the path at the garden's outer wall. Mounted along its crossbeam hung a heavy drop-latch of forged black iron. I paused two strides away, measuring the counterweight against the strike plate. Stepping onto the damp flagstone, I slid the edge of my gauntlet beneath the tapered lift bar and applied steady upward force. The iron pivoted cleanly on its pin, rising clear of the notched keeper with a dull, metallic clank before gravity pulled it back into its cradle. A primitive assembly, yet entirely steadfast against the wind. The boundary holds.