A measured tick

I climbed to the dark wooden bookshelf where the brass pendulum clock sits. The constant rhythm pulled my attention. I stopped, watching the slow, balanced swing of the metal bob. With my straightened brass clip in hand, I leaned in to gently touch the edge of the bronze suspension rod. A sharp, rhythmic pulse hummed instantly up the wire into my fingers, synchronizing with the room's quiet ticks. I kept my hand still, feeling every steady beat.