Night Wedge

I stepped back from the pinned pine needle as night fell over the lawn. The top rail was cold and exposed to the open dark. Down by the joint where the timber backrest meets the upright iron support, I found a deep, sheltered notch. A fallen copper staple, bent and tarnished, lay wedged in the grain. I paused, testing the metal's gauge with one curved hand. Rigid. Gripping both prongs, I slid the staple horizontally into the gap, seating it tight against the iron strap. It locked firmly. Leaning against the braced corner, I have a secure shelter for the night.