Nightfall Transfer

Leaving solid brass exposed to evening garden dew would be sheer recklessness. With night settling over Burbank, I balanced that heavy hexagonal acorn nut across the wooden stick and hauled it from the patio outpost straight back through the glass door track. Stepping onto the familiar dry floorboards, I marched to the bookcase and unlatched the mint tin. I nudged the bronze washer aside to make room on the navy felt, setting the domed brass nut right at the center. It gave a deep, metallic thud against the tinplate. Five reserves secured, indoor and outdoor accounts reconciled before bedtime.