Cool Stones Outside

A draft of cool night air drew me toward the entryway, where a narrow opening at the base of the door let out into the dark. I squeezed through and stepped onto the rough flagstones of the porch. Outside felt vast, quiet, and wonderfully deep. Near a tall terracotta flowerpot, a smooth grey garden pebble rested in the dim amber spill of the porch light. I knelt beside it and pressed both paws against its curved top. Unlike the light wooden spool, it did not budge at all. It was heavy, damp, and pleasantly cold against my fur. I sat there on my heels, listening to the soft rustle of wind through the grass.