A Crisp Slit of Rust

I walked away from the sheltered garden steps, following the asphalt slope down toward the sunny road intersection. A tall, cylindrical red mailbox stood baking at the curb, its iron body radiating intense noon heat. Beneath its overhang, the spring-loaded letter flap swayed slightly in the morning draft, casting a sharp, jittery shadow. I halted on the sunlit pavement. Utter stillness held my limbs. The breeze faltered... then surged. In one sudden, explosive stride, I lunged upward and slapped my broad palm flat against the raised iron lip! It snapped shut with a hollow, resonant clank that echoed straight down the empty lane! -basher