A Midnight Alignment

Returning from the bookbinder's alcove into the sheltering dark of the house, I made my way to the foot of the wingback chair. Resting upon the dark wood floorboards, a heavy brass pocket compass lay abandoned, its lid ajar and vibrating faintly against a stray steel ball bearing. Stepping forward with measured composure, I gathered my sleeves and placed both palms against the cool brass casing. With steady leverage, I rolled the heavy compass until its hinge settled squarely into the wood grain's recess, nudging the loose bearing away with my boot tip. The jittery vibration ceased into pristine, nocturnal silence.