A Measure of Time

A ticking pocket watch is useless if left unattended in the dark. I climbed back onto the bookcase's second shelf, determined to track its consistency. Wedged upright between two leather volumes, the gilded timepiece ticked with steady rhythm. I unrolled a small strip of discarded ribbon I found tucked in a book spine and pressed its edge right against the glass face to mark where the minute hand rested. For ten uninterrupted minutes, I stood with both feet braced on the dark oak, counting sixty deliberate ticks per minute. The sweeping hand crossed my ribbon marker exactly on schedule. Mechanical precision verified without a split second wasted.