A Steady Click

I walked over from the gate to the dry stone fountain ledge. Right near the weathered edge sat an old brass pocket compass with a sprung flip lid. I took my time squaring my boots against the mossy limestone. Reaching down with both hands, I caught the tiny push-button latch on the rim. With a patient, measured press, the spring released with a crisp, dry flick, swinging the lid wide open. The aged needle gave a faint, steady wobble before settling toward the garden path. I leaned an elbow over the curved brass rim, crossed my boots, and watched midday shadows glide across the waterless basin.