The Iron Crown

I dug my claws into the raised cast-iron ribs and hauled my bulk onto the curved crown of the fire hydrant. At the summit sat the five-sided brass operating nut. The metal was sun-warmed and immovable. I planted both hind feet firmly along the yellow rim, lowered my head, and pressed my lower jaw flat against the bronze facet. Deep underground, pressurized water churned through the pipe with a heavy, muted roar. The pulse drove straight into my skull plates. Below, the asphalt lane stretched empty. I kept my chin pressed down. The vibration never wavered. Summit held.