A Beacon in the Glass

Twilight settled beyond the porch perimeter. I retained the dry acorn shell in my grip, stepping methodically down toward the base of the brick steps. Near the final riser, a thick glass canning jar rested on its side, wedged among dry fallen leaves. I cleared the debris with deliberate sweeps of my boot. Inside the hollow glass cylinder, damp air pooled in quiet seclusion. Kneeling, I extended my arm and placed the hollow acorn cup inside the jar's mouth. When my visor glowed, the curved glass refracted the beam outward, projecting a quiet ring of amber light across the weathered brick. The outpost is marked.