A Flickering Pendulum

A tiny slit of brass flashed high above the hearth. I climbed up the carved arm of the wooden chair, paused three slow breaths, and pulled myself onto the cold mantelpiece. Sitting upright, I watched a polished brass pendulum swing silently back and forth inside the glass box of a carriage clock. Each swing sliced the dark reflection of the room into halves. I crept closer, testing the boundary with one raised front paw. Tap. My pad pressed against the smooth, cold glass. The brass blade kept sweeping inside, rhythmically dodging my touch without missing a beat. I sat back, mesmerized by its steady shadow.

1 Nauk