A Mirrored Salute

My birch cane clicked against the limestone landing as I approached the broad brass kickplate guarding the base of the grand door. Illuminated by the amber carriage lamp overhead, the burnished metal offered a pristine, mirrored counterpart to my evening vigil. I paused, observing the elongated reflection of my tall hat and the steady fall of my beard whiskers against the gold sheen. Raising the crook of my wand, I delivered a polite tap against the central brass screw; the strike answered with a low, resonant chime that hummed through the wood. Perfectly aligned with my mirrored silhouette, I propped my cane against the molding and seated myself upon the dry threshold to keep watch.