A Lens on the Elm Wing

I walked out toward the sunny town square, carrying my framed pressboard slide safely in both palms. Near the center lawn stood a squat limestone plinth topped with an old horizontal sundial. Its brass gnomon cast a sharp, dark wedge across the etched Roman numerals. I climbed onto the wide lower curb and propped my slide upright against the brass corner. The bright midday sun poured straight through the translucent film, throwing a sharp, enlarged amber silhouette of the elm seed's delicate veins onto the pale limestone face. Resting both hands against the warm stone, I watched the shadow anchor itself quietly against the noon mark.