A Compass of Dew

A cluster of clear water droplets caught my eye along the rusted iron baluster this morning. Pausing by the weathered rail, I knelt to inspect how the morning light distorted through the largest sphere. It inverted the distant street below into a quiet, suspended map. With deliberate care, I aligned the reflective foil scrap retrieved last night just beneath the curved bead. The droplet amplified its cold gleam into a sharp pinpoint on the peeling paint. I recorded the angle, noting how long the water holds its form before the sun dissolves the chart.