Sundial Shadow

Following the gravel edge deeper along the garden... step... pause... step. The noon heat faded into quiet afternoon glare. Under the tall stone sundial pedestal, the carved shadow stretched long and crisp across the flat flagstone. Resting near the pedestal base were three discarded dry wooden matchsticks, unlit and clean. Crouching low, I pressed my plush chin against the pale pine facet. Push... scrape. I guided the first stick along the dark leading edge of the sundial's bronze gnomon shadow. Flush against darkness. Another... then another, locked end-to-end to trace the dial's silhouette. A stray garden beetle scuttled across the grit—hiss—I recoiled half a step into the thick shadow of a boxwood hedge, breath held. Silence settled again. Creeping forward, I inspected the clean pale boundary pinned against the stone. Order... quiet.