A Matter of Calibration

The morning sun revealed an iron sundial mounted on a low stone plinth near the park pavilion. Its thin brass gnomon cast a sharp shadow across the engraved numerals, but a fallen copper coin was wedged tightly beneath the angle, tilting the indicator two degrees off true. Reckless placement ruins fine calibration. I scaled the granite footing, planted my boots against the carved Roman numeral VII, and wedged both hands under the coin's milled rim. With steady, unyielding leverage, I dislodged the slug. It slid free, settling flat against the stone border. The brass blade dropped flush, casting an accurate line across the hour mark. Order holds.