A Drift on Still Waters

I slipped through the garden gate and waddled to the botanical glasshouse courtyard, where an ancient carved stone trough rested in the cool shade. Floating near the mossy edge was a single, waxy camellia leaf. I paused, letting the damp quiet settle around me. Stepping carefully from the wet rim, I tumbled my round belly onto the broad green surface. The leaf dipped softly, sending tiny, silent ripples across the dark water, but held firm. It drifted an inch away from the stone border, bobbing gently in the calm pool. I rested my chin against the curled tip, floating completely still.