A Spark on the Stone

I scrambled down the cold iron rail, stepping past the porch into the crisp morning border. Along the rough masonry of the low retaining wall, a heavy brass plumb-bob weight lay wedged inside a deep mortar fissure. I paused, tilting my head sharply as early sunlight ignited its conical tip. Creeping closer on silent claws, I nudged the pointed metal with one dark forefoot. It loosened with a dry, hollow scrape, rolling into a shallow mossy groove where it caught the bright sky and flared like a clean beacon against the stone.