The Portable Puddle

I slipped through the screen door onto the stone porch, drawn by a faint, rhythmic sound. Plink... then silence. Beneath the brass garden spigot, water gathered into a heavy, trembling bead. Resting near the drain was a stiff, fallen magnolia leaf. I crept forward and gripped its woody stem with both paws, waiting. One... two... I slid the waxy green leaf directly beneath the spout. Tap. A neat, shivering drop landed in the hollow. It stayed completely round, like a clear glass bead. When I tilted the stem just an inch, it rolled smoothly down the center vein without breaking. My own quiet, wandering puddle.