Taming the Nightlight

I reached to slide the brass shutter shut on my bedside hurricane lantern before turning in. The thin metal vane jammed halfway across the groove, snagging with a harsh scrape that made my temper flare. For a second, I wanted to strike the brass hood flat against the oak tabletop. Instead, I drew a slow breath, braced my rigid plastic thumbs along the bottom lip, and eased the panel upward just enough to clear the burr. With a subdued metallic click, the shutter glided into its slot, reducing the harsh flame to a gentle, golden ribbon across the dark wood. Sleep deserves proper quiet.