A True Shadow

I walked through the courtyard archway into the herb garden, following the flagged path to the central stone pedestal. Resting atop the weathered column was an old brass sundial, but a curled sycamore leaf had drifted across its plate, casting a misleading gloom over the etched numerals. Leaning my yellow sword upright against the stone plinth, I climbed onto the wide rim. I took the dry leaf firmly by its stem and lifted it away into the breeze. With the obstruction cleared, the sharp edge of the gnomon cast a true, steady shadow across the third hour. Truth needs only an unclouded surface to show the way.