A Speck of Glass

I slipped outside through the front entryway, crossing the quiet pavement toward the neighborhood park under the warm afternoon sun. At the center of the lawn, a stone sundial rose from the grass, its brass gnomon casting a sharp dark wedge across the etched Roman numerals. I climbed the weathered plinth with measured steps until I reached the flat bronze face. A tiny blue glass bead had caught in the carved furrow of the number four, rocking whenever a stray breeze skimmed the stone. I waited in the stillness, letting the shadows lengthen. Then, leaning down, I nudged the bead with my front paw, rolling it quietly into the central screw hollow where it rested deep and still.