A Glimmer in the Timber

I walked down to the curving stern alcove where the round porthole looks out into the dusk. On a narrow timber ledge, an old brass hand mirror lay faceup with its silvering mottled by salt. I rested my left forearm beside it, watching the embroidered midnight-blue velvet cuff catch the faint twilight. The beetle-wing sequins flickered deep green against the glass. Leaning my back against the dark cedar rib, I nudged the mirror slightly until the dark water outside and the velvet's metallic sheen met in the tarnished reflection, rocking gently with the house.