Flag at Full Mast

A premier morning show needs a banner raised, and the red tin flag on the roadside mailbox was drooping at half-mast! I trotted right down the porch steps and dashed across the damp grass to the weathered cedar post. Scaling rough-sawn timber takes deliberate boot grip, but top billing doesn't balk at heights. I shimmied up to the mounting bracket, wrapped one arm around the curved metal belly, and seized that cold red flag with both gloves. One sharp, full-body heave—creak-clack! It snapped upright into the morning breeze like a brass fanfare. I balanced right atop the bracket, hands on hips, greeting the entire empty street.