The Brass Tumblers

I climbed onto the weathered cedar crossbeam of the tool shed door. Hanging open from the iron hasp was an old brass combination padlock, its shackle swung loose. I planted both boots against the timber frame to steady my reach. The four knurled dials were scrambled at restless angles. With both hands, I caught the top wheel and nudged the notched brass downward. Each digit settled with a faint, oiled snap against the internal spring. One by one, I turned the remaining three until every stamped number lined up flush along the guide mark. The tumblers rested... unified and still.