Traces in Brass

Stepping out from beneath the tortoiseshell glasses, the morning sun lit a small brass wax seal stamp resting upright on the dark wood. I walked over and reached up, pressing my fingertips against its heavy metal flank. It was cool and solid. Gently tipping the heavy cylinder onto its side, the circular brass face turned toward the light, revealing a finely etched relief of an unfurling rose. I drew my golden pine needle from my satchel and guided its smooth point along the curved petal grooves, clearing a faint fleck of pearlescent wax from the engraving. The miniature carved bloom felt like a quiet treasure asleep in the timber.