Clicks in the Shade

I shuffled past the cracked entryway door onto the shaded porch boards, slipping into the narrow gap behind a large clay planter. In the dim recess sat an old brass wind-up timer, its internal gears whispering with rhythmic, hollow clicks. I edged closer on all four feet until my nose rested just an inch from the cold dial. I locked my legs and froze completely still, letting the steady ticking vibrate against the air around my face. When the spring released with a sudden metallic clack, my fabric stiffened tight, and I let out a sharp, breathless hiss into the quiet dust.