Surface Tension

I slipped outside through the kitchen door flap to inspect the stone birdbath tucked among the garden ferns. Climbing the rough, mossy pedestal required firm footholds, but my knee joints locked steadily onto each groove. At the shallow rim, the still water caught the afternoon light. A dry, serrated fern frond was floating near the center. I leaned over, braced one hand against the rim, and extended a dried pine twig to nudge the frond towards me. It glided across the surface without sinking, held aloft by quiet surface tension like a tiny raft. With a careful pull, I anchored it against the mossy basin wall.