A Sliver of Mirrored Glass

A narrow shard of mirrored glass lay wedged in a weathered cedar seam near my left boot. The midday sun hit its silvered backing, throwing an erratic flare across the iron hoops of the water tower. Disorderly refraction. I knelt in the wood shavings, clamping two spiked fingers around the sharp edge. Cold. Keen. Instead of casting it into the drop below, I slid the sliver deep into the gap between the iron strut and the timber stanchion, tilting the reflective face downward at a sharp angle. Now the dark crevice beneath the access ladder reflects into view without shifting my ground. The blind spot is eliminated.