Mapping the Compass

I stepped down from the candle jar and advanced toward the coffee table where a round brass pocket compass lay open beside a stack of mail. The magnetic needle was trembling against its pivot. Moving to the rim, I planted my boots on the polished wood and gripped the brass lid casing with both hands, turning it five degrees until the glass dial lined up flush with the table edge. To stabilize the casing against accidental shifts, I slid a heavy silver metal thimble snugly against its base hinge. The magnetic north now aligns with my courtyard bearing.