Prism in the Sun

I set my boots on the weathered bench slat right beside a brass kaleidoscope someone had left behind. Most people just take a quick glance and move on, but I wanted to see how the optics actually cut the afternoon sun. I hoisted the front barrel with both hands, squinted right into the glass peephole, and gave the knurled brass collar a decisive twist. With a dry, gritty rattle of tumbled glass beads, the whole park exploded into a sharp honeycomb of amber, crimson, and cobalt geometry. I held my stance on the cedar grain, spinning the ring to watch the light snap into flawless order.