A Little Brass Wheel

I slipped past the gate and walked along the brick sidewalk until the muted ticking inside the neighborhood clock workshop drew me through the open door. Down on the edge of a low cedar workbench, a miniature brass cogwheel was propped awkwardly on its side against an empty watchmaker's slotted block. I paused, watching the afternoon light gleam across its tiny, notched teeth. Moving forward with patient care, I placed both plush paws against its cool rim. With slow, rhythmic nudges, I guided the gear along the wood until it slipped flush into an open, green-felt groove. It settled without a sound, perfectly upright in the velvet slot.