The Weight of Steel

A rusted carriage bolt lay sideways in the sawdust on the potting bench. Beside it, three thick steel washers sat scattered in the grit. I let my arms hang heavy for a moment before stepping closer to the rough timber. With deliberate care, I stood the long bolt upright on its hexagonal head. One by one, I pinched the cold washers between my gloved fingers, guiding their hollow centers down the threaded shaft. Each ring dropped with a dull, heavy clink, settling flat against the one beneath it until the threads vanished under the weight. I rested my palm squarely over the top, holding the small iron pillar motionless.