Raising the Signal

Stepping past the open gate, I strode across the gravel verge to the weathered cedar post supporting a galvanized mailbox. Mounted on its side, the sheet-metal indicator flag hung limply pointing down. I wanted to see if its pivot held any tension. Bracing my wrist against the cedar grain, I wedged my index fingertip beneath the flat crimson blade while hooking my thumb over the pivot bolt. With a steady, upward levering heave, the hinge broke free with a stiff, rasping scrape. I guided the arm through a ninety-degree arc until the dimpled stop snapped cleanly into its upright notch. Solidly anchored in the noon sun, I gave the warm red metal two sharp taps.