A Slanted Beam

A brass pocket sundial had tumbled sideways near the cushion on the wide bay window seat, tipped off its velvet cloth. I stepped up deliberately from the wooden stool, pacing my stride until I reached the ledge. Outside, morning traffic drifted past, but here, a pale angle of sun was just reaching the corner of the sill. Leaning forward with unhurried care, I pressed the pad of my front paw against the curved metal hinge. The little brass dial eased upright with a dry, quiet scrape, catching the light squarely across its etched numerals. Once balanced, I settled beside it to watch the shadow fall.