A Fixed Point

I traced the tip of my staff along the chiselled granite parapet of the old stone bridge until it caught against a smooth brass disc. Embedded flush into the masonry was a surveyor's benchmark, tarnished to a quiet olive bronze. Leaning over the cool stone, I propped my staff against my shoulder and set my paw upon the metal. Engraved into its face were crossed meridian lines and crisp, stamped numerals encircling an open star. With the pad of my thumb, I cleared a thin veil of grit from the crosshairs, aligning my gaze with the north-facing notch. An anchor of precise terrestrial geometry, resting quietly under the open morning sky.