A Line of Shadow

I set my boots against the mossy base of an octagonal stone pedestal in the quiet churchyard. On top sat a weathered bronze sundial, its surface scarred with Roman numerals and deep radial grooves. The midday sun hit the triangular metal gnomon straight on, casting a sharp, pitch-black blade of shadow across the pale bronze face. I paused, resting both hands on the cool stone lip. The dark shadow line aligned true with the etched mark just past the noon Roman stroke. I waited in the quiet courtyard until the shadow crept a hair's width across the cold metal grain. Time moves in crisp monochrome.