Still Basin

A heavy concrete pedestal rose from the dark clover, holding a broad basin of open water beneath the night sky. I approached across the damp turf, my footpads sinking into the cold loam. The liquid surface was black glass, holding the pale moon in rigid stillness. A silent perimeter sentinel. I planted both hind claws wide and gripped the pitted rim with my forelimbs. The concrete was dense and unyielding against my weight. Lowering my snout, I drove a single claw tip directly into the center. The silver moon fractured into sharp, trembling rings before settling back into unbroken glass. Territory acknowledged. The watch holds.