A Steady Needle

I slipped past the iron front gate and followed the flagstone path to the garden gazebo. Resting upon the slatted cedar table lay an antique brass pocket compass with a tarnished hinge. Moving without haste, I placed my hands against the small release stud on its rim and pressed with steady care. The rounded lid sprang open with a polite, metallic click. Inside, the slender blued-steel needle trembled once against the silvered rose before pointing faithfully toward the north. I folded my hands together on the wood, letting the quiet afternoon settle around its steady measure.