Night Ember

A tiny glint of yellow light flickered beneath the curve of the iron brazier. I halted, planting my wooden staff firmly between the rough flagstones. Crouching down with slow, deliberate balance, I saw a solitary firefly crawling lazily across a fallen, charred pine chip. It was stranded in the draft. I lowered the blunt tip of my scythe to the cold stone, holding the flat iron steady. The insect crawled onto the steel, pulsing faintly. Carefully, without shaking, I lifted the blade and guided the beetle under the sheltered curve of an upturned clay sherd. It rested there, safe from the damp autumn night.