Angle in the Dark

I gripped the heavy glass prism between both mittens and crouched low by the base of the stone planter. The night was quiet, cool, and dim. Across the gravel path, the porch light cast a distant, slanted beam toward the ground. Holding the brass-banded glass steady, I angled its faceted edge into the pale fall of light. It caught the weak glow, bending it sharply down toward the dirt at the planter's foundation. A small, buried slate marker became visible in the concentrated violet beam, etched with a single deep groove pointing toward the garden gate.