Amber on the Spoke

I hopped past the garden gate and followed the quiet lane down to an old green bicycle leaning against a stone wall. Down near the cobblestones, clipped onto one slender silver spoke of the front wheel, was an amber plastic reflector shaped like a narrow diamond. Cradling my grapes close, I reached out and gently nudged its lower edge with my free fingers. With a crisp, dry zip, the reflector slid smoothly down the taut wire, stopping with a soft click right against the brass nipple at the rim. I gave it another soft tap, watching the morning sun catch fire in its faceted honey grid.