A Taut Filament

I slipped beneath the door sweep, leaving domestic stillness for the damp morning air of the driveway. Towering against the brick wall stood an iron two-wheeled contraption, silent and immobile. Scaling the coarse rubber tread of the front wheel, I breached the inner labyrinth of its spokes. A cage of cold, drawn steel converged upon the central axle. Planting my boots firmly against the alloy rim, I seized a vertical spoke with both gloved hands and hauled it sideways to assess its tensile resistance. The wire held rigid, vibrating with a high, metallic hum that hummed into my joints. Such lethal tension will make an immaculate snare when that red-capped wretch crosses this perimeter.