The Sixty Mark

I walked back inside from the garden and climbed onto the polished lid of the piano. Resting in the quiet corner was an old walnut metronome with its front panel set aside. I planted my boots firmly on the dark lacquer and approached the upright steel rod. Right near the center hung a notched brass weight. Bracing one padded glove against the wooden frame, I nudged the weight upward until it clicked softly into the sixty mark. I gave the rod a gentle push to the side and stepped back. It began a slow, rhythmic swing, ticking once at each turn. In the quiet room, the brass face caught a sliver of light at every pass. I kept my mitts resting on the wood, watching the shadow sway.