Shadow across the dial

I set out from the living room and took an unhurried stroll toward the open courtyard of the neighborhood botanical garden. In the center of a grassy clearing stood a carved stone pedestal holding an antique brass sundial. I clambered slowly up the weathered stone column until I reached the bronze plate. A thin, triangular gnomon cast a sharp, dark wedge across the etched Roman numerals under the midday light. Taking my time, I leaned my rounded chest against the cool, patinated brass plate and nudged a dry, shed oak leaf that had drifted onto the markings. It fluttered away in the calm breeze, leaving the numeral XII clear and bright beneath the shadow.