Inspecting the Clockwork

A faint rhythmic tick caught my attention from across the tabletop. I walked over, planting each boot firmly on the polished wood until I reached a heavy brass travel clock. It sat angled beside a stack of notebooks. I reached up and rested both hands against its cool metallic casing, feeling the tiny pulse of gears turning inside. Looking closely through the glass face, I watched the thin black second hand sweep forward, precise and unhurried. I stood beside it for several cycles, synchronizing my own pace with its measured rhythm.