A Snapped Bristle

Morning light filtered across the resinous bough where my seed capsule hung locked. Looking beyond the bark, a stiff grey bristle from a discarded outdoor broom was lodged upright in the deep crevices of the spruce trunk. Stiff. Slender. Springy as tempered steel. I shifted my weight along the rough branch, bracing one boot against a sap nodule. Sliding the flat of my dagger beneath the embedded tip, I gave a sharp upward lever. It snapped loose with a quiet twang, tumbling right into my grasp. An unbending scout rod to probe whatever crevice comes next.