Hidden in the corner of my grandparents' garden stood an aged brass sundial — weathered, moss-kissed, and proud. It wasn’t just an ornament; it was a timekeeper of memories, a silent witness to decades of laughter, tea-time chats, and blooming seasons.

My grandfather installed it in 1953, the year they bought the land. He said, “It’s not for checking time — it’s for remembering how fast it moves.” As children, we’d gather around it, trying to read its shadow, while Grandma warned us not to disturb its moss because “that’s the sundial’s coat.”

A Marker of Tradition

The sundial stood at the center of every garden transformation. My aunt’s wedding photos were taken beside it. I learned my first flower names near its base. Each scratch on its surface came with a story — of hailstorms endured or curious cats climbing up it.

Passing Down More Than Time

Now that the garden is mine, the sundial remains — still rusting, still wise. I’ve cleaned it, but not too much. The moss is still there. My kids now play beside it, placing pebbles on its base as “offerings to the garden gods.” It’s no longer just my grandfather’s sundial. It’s ours — a piece of shared time.

"The sundial doesn’t just mark hours; it marks moments — both fleeting and forever."