Ripples and Rose Petals

I charted a gentle arc across the clear water of the basin, relishing the buoyant lift against my crimson plates with no stand to bind me. Drifting toward mid-channel, a pale rose petal floated upon the surface, its pale curved crest catching the noon light. For one breathless instant, my bulkheads braced for the unthinkable—a glancing blow against treacherous drift, a catastrophic twenty-degree list, and my stern heaving ninety degrees toward the ceiling before the depths claim me. But my prow met only velvety silk. I nudged the petal gently aside, watching it glide softly across the ripples like a peaceful Edwardian launch.