Enamoured

I was enamoured with the clock. Its round face almost smiled at me, as its three hands kept time.

The second hand was brass and ticked quickly across the patterned surface. The minute hand was only slightly slower and made of silver.

And the ponderous golden hour hand moved slowly.

Every hour, when the golden hand skimmed forward, the clock would not only just chime but make music.

A sound, similar to a music box, would sing a tune, while little figurines chased each other.

Across the face, they would run before disappearing somewhere behind, hidden for another hour.