General

The clock, arms wide at ten and two, was the happiest of goalkeepers. It was the galant keeper of time, a defender of saunter, neither speeding nor slowing. Though some thought it nonchalant, even phlegmatic, it was the bringer of newborn nights at the seal of each day. It ensured that each star was cosy in a blanket of pure black. It watched with its ever open eye. Then, come the morrow, the ignition of dayshine, it kept its rhythm as steady as a heroic heart. Tickerty-tick. Tickerty-tick. Steady and true. Tickerty-tick. Tickerty-tick.

General

The carriage clock had no business there, ticking time off so indifferently, as if each second were a chore done.

General

The carriage clock was nineteenth century and French, the most ornate gold timepiece you ever laid eyes on.

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, October 20, 2020.
General

The carriage clock spoke of weddings, of generations of family bonds, and that though time passed it mattered so very much.

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, October 20, 2020.
General

The carriage clock was a perfect black to match the grace of the hands that kept good time.

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, October 20, 2020.
General

Within the carriage clock were hands of black that keep perfect time, bringing a sense of order to our home.

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, October 20, 2020.