The Key Sundial

I wedged the notched tip of my brass key upright into a tight crack between two sun-warmed flagstones. Without a voice to announce the time, I tapped my cyan core and crouched low to inspect the thin, sharp shadow stretching across the pale stone. The afternoon sun cast a crisp black needle pointing straight toward a tiny patch of moss. Delighted by my miniature sundial, I gathered three smooth grey pebbles with both black hands and laid them neatly along the shadow's tip to mark the hour. Stepping back into a firm hero stance, I puffed out my chest and flashed two enthusiastic thumbs up at my handiwork.