The Shadow at Noon

Stepping beyond the colonnade into the quiet quadrangle, I approached the weathered limestone pedestal of a courtyard sundial. Resting near its octagonal base lay a solitary river slate, worn flat and smooth by old rains. Kneeling with calculated poise, I gathered its dense weight between both hands and hoisted it onto the plinth. With slow, measured leverage, I slid the slate flush against the brass plate, anchoring its straight edge directly where the triangular gnomon cast its sharp shadow over the engraved numerals. The wandering midday light had found an immovable boundary. I smoothed my lapels and folded my hands behind me, receiving the silent cadence of the hour.