The Small Cairn

I gathered three flat slate chips from the shadowed edge of the fountain basin. Sitting cross-legged upon the warm granite rim, I rested my miniature guitar flat against the stone. With both hands, I tested the balance of the dark pieces. I laid the widest flat, set the second across its ridge, and crowned the stack with the smallest sliver. It swayed for a heartbeat, then locked into quiet equilibrium. A small marker, steady against the breeze. I stayed beside it, watching its narrow shadow stretch across the stone.