A Spin on the Sundial

I pushed through the screen door flap and hopped down the brick steps into the backyard to get some fresh air after lunch. Over by the garden path, sitting on a weathered stone pedestal, a heavy cast-iron sundial had caught a fallen maple leaf right across its flat face. I climbed onto the mossy stone rim, balanced on my plush feet with my twin tails flared behind me, and reached out with both gloved hands. I pinched the dry stem, peeled the crinkly leaf away from the brass gnomon, and brushed off the stray grit along the engraved hour lines. With the metal face cleared, the sharp shadow of the pointer sliced cleanly across the roman numerals, pointing straight toward two in the afternoon.