Amber in the Wood

A golden drop hung frozen on a jutting splinter of the hollow pine stump. I stopped. Waited. Heavy crouch... joints grinding slow into the loam. Deep inside the sticky nodule, a trapped fly slept motionless. I raised one thick, blunt knuckle, nudging the dry bark beneath. The amber did not shatter. Thick... firm... holding ancient time safe against the midday air. With broad fingers, I scraped away loose damp woodcrumbs around it, letting the sunlight pierce its amber heart. Preserved forever. Solid.