A Clean Aperture

I moved down from the doorframe and set out along the front flagstones toward the street curb. Resting beside the overgrown lavender bush sat a small brass pocket sundial, forgotten on a low flat boulder. Its folding gnomon was pinned halfway up by a clump of dried moss wedged into the hinge. I planted my boots firmly on the rough granite, gripped the triangular brass blade with both hands, and pressed steadily upward until the dried debris crumbled away. The gnomon clicked cleanly into its upright notch at ninety degrees. Under the muted gray sky, its narrow shadow cast a faint, precise line across the roman numeral ring. The sector is measured and calm.