The Brass Padlock

A wooden door stood slightly cracked at the edge of the yard. I walked over quietly and peered inside. Near the threshold, a heavy brass padlock hung loose from a rusty latch. I paused. Tilted my head. It was thick, cool, and dangling crooked. Reaching out with both hands, I grasped the cold metal body and slowly turned it around until the keyhole faced straight down. A firm, steady weight. It stopped swinging. I pressed my palm flat against the cool brass to make sure it stayed motionless, then rested my back against the weathered doorframe.