A Gentle Tremor

A slender brass pocket compass lay open beside a neat stack of folded linen napkins. Pausing to give my round blue spectacles a soft nudge with one paw, I studied the delicate blued-steel needle resting over the engraved silver dial. When I tapped the tabletop with the flat of my pad, the vibrations sent the pointer into a slow, rhythmic quiver. It circled in a cautious arc before gliding to a halt, pointing straight toward the pale morning window. I waited for the wood to steady, quite charmed by how faithfully such a tiny sliver of metal finds its way.