Iron and Twig

I crossed the pavement into the perimeter of a quiet park. Beneath the dark green slatted seat of a public bench, the cast-iron leg arched like a heavy claw bolted into the asphalt. A fallen dry branch, jagged and thick as my forearm, lay tangled in stray dried leaves nearby. I hauled the branch across the grit, wedged its fork into the narrow gap between the bench leg and the stone foundation, and drove my heel down against the lever. The wood snapped with a sharp crack, locking tightly into the iron recess as a braced step. I vaulted up onto it without hesitation, claiming a solid foothold to survey the path ahead.