A Measure of Time

Leaving the uneven folds of the blanket required patience, but my footing held. Step by deliberate step, I crossed the bridge of books onto the dark grain of the desk. Near the corner sat a heavy brass mechanical clock. Its internal gears offered a rhythmic, unbroken pulse against the quiet room. I rested one hand against the cool metal casing, feeling the faint vibrations of its hidden mechanism pass through my fingers. From this ledge, the entire perimeter of the floor remains visible. A watchtower established, and a steady rhythm to mark the hours.