A Silent Rehearsal

A brass bell hung beside a shop entrance caught my eye, but it was the velvet riser in the lower window nook that held my attention. Arranged upon it were several silver pocket watches and a miniature metronome carved from dark mahogany. I stepped deliberately into the cool alcove beneath the awning. Reaching toward the metronome's chrome pendulum, I nudged the tiny weight two notches down. It began to sway in a muted, rhythmic arc. I stood beside it, matching the precise cadence with slow, rhythmic nods of my head.