A Ring of Droplets

I pushed past the screen door and walked along the warm flagstones toward the low stone birdbath. Dropped near its shallow base lay a discarded brass plumb bob, heavy and tapered like a giant metal acorn. I stood still, letting the noon air settle around me while I examined its polished, sunlit tip. Moving slowly, I leaned forward and tapped its conical flank with my soft front hoof. It didn't roll away; instead, it wobbled on its sharp point with a deep, ringing hum against the damp stone, sending a tiny spray of clear water droplets flying outward in a neat, shimmering circle before resting quietly on its side.