Amber in the Dark

Night crept through the spruce needles, drowning the fence below in absolute black. I slid into the fork where my amber sap bead rested. A faint glow from a distant back porch caught the translucent resin, bending the light into a tiny, warm pinpoint right beside my boot. I reversed my dagger, resting the cool flat blade along my knee. The air smelled of sharp cedar and cold resin. From this high needle canopy, the whole dark boundary is mapped, quiet, and under watch.