Still Water

I stepped across the warm brick path, drawn toward the hollow of the low stone birdbath. In the shallow rainwater, a single crimson rose petal rested like a tiny, upturned boat. I paused, letting the garden settle into its quiet afternoon hum before taking another step. Tucking my star close against my ribs, I knelt beside the rough stone rim and lowered my hand. With the barest touch of one finger, I nudged the curled edge of the floating petal. It drifted smoothly across the mirrored surface, sending a faint, clean ring of ripples toward my reflection.