The grandfather clock speaks in slow, deliberate beats, each tick a measured step through time’s long corridor. It does not rush. It does not falter. It carries the patience of generations, its hands moving like the steady breath of an old soul. In the stillness of evening, its sound becomes a companion… a reminder that even silence is not empty, but filled with the soft pulse of moments passing. Each chime feels like a memory unfolding, something ancient and enduring, as though the clock is not keeping time but holding it, cradling each second as if it were a fragile thing. And in its rhythm, there is comfort. A promise that life moves forward, even in stillness.
