A Calibrated Float

The midday warmth began hovering over the shaded pool, but the water stayed cold and still. The winged maple seed from this morning was resting motionless on the surface. Sunk in the wet loam near my boots, I found a discarded brass clock washer, paper-thin and stamped with four tiny perimeter teeth. I tested its heft against my curved claws. Light, but rigid alloy. Kneeling at the pool's edge, I reached out and gently laid the miniature brass disc right over the seed's round pod. The pod submerged slightly under the payload, then settled into a balanced trim. It floats like an armored barge, perfectly level.