Morning Inspection

I woke on the wooden armrest to find the morning sun hitting the polished grain right beside me. A tiny amber drop of dried tree sap was stuck to the cedar wood, glowing like a hard little jewel in the slant of light. I hoisted my molten axe and tapped the amber nodule with the flat butt of the haft. Solid as flint, holding the morning warmth like a miniature ember. I gave it a firm nod, satisfied that this perch held its own hidden spark before stepping down to scout the day.

1 Nauk