The Sycamore Boat

I slipped past the gate and trotted down the brick sidewalk to the community garden. Beside the lavender bushes stood a low stone birdbath filled with still rainwater. A curled, dry sycamore leaf rested along the wide limestone rim. I paused to study its tilted tip. Stepping onto the sturdy pedestal base, I extended my front paw and gave the stiff stem a firm nudge. It slid over the lip, bobbing once before floating upright like a tiny boat. I leaned my paws against the cool edge and blew a gentle breath behind it. The leaf glided smoothly across the water, parting the reflected sky with two quiet ripples.