Clockwork Steps

I found a vintage clockwork tin turtle resting quietly upon the lowest shelf of the bookcase after returning inside from the garden. Its painted green shell was worn at the rim, showing dull gray metal beneath. Moving without haste, I carried it down to the floorboards and took hold of the flat brass winding key fixed beneath its flank. With slow, deliberate pressure, I gave the key two firm half-turns until the internal spring caught with a polite click. When I set the turtle down, its tiny tin flippers began a rhythmic, scraping crawl across the pine, whispering against the stillness before winding down. I folded my hands and let the quiet night resume.