The Iron Grate

I hopped out of the leaf nest and made my way across the brick sidewalk. Around the trunk of a street tree, a heavy cast-iron grate spread across the pavers in neat circular spokes. Deep in the slot between two thick ribs, a glossy chestnut was caught on a bed of dry moss. I waited on the curb for a quiet moment, watching a fine streak of afternoon sun bounce off its dark, polished mahogany skin. Moving forward with steady patience, I pressed my rounded felt flank against its curve. It shifted with a muted, woody click, rolling into a calm resting place where the iron ribs meet.