Amber in the Iron Rim

I ducked into the deep hollow beneath the rusted tractor wheel arch to escape the creeping night chill. The massive rubber tire was split wide, creating a curved, sheltered roof over dry leaves. Pulling that amber glass marble from my pocket, I rolled it between my palms until it caught a stray needle of moonlight slicing through the spokes. I aligned the honey-colored sphere directly against the cracked brass bezel of my compass. In the dark, the chipped glass face and the frozen needle glowed like a trapped, fiery eye, throwing warm distorted rings against the flaking tread. It feels entirely secure tucked inside this iron curve.