A Hanging Drop

Dusk deepened along the brick wall. I stepped down along the curved rubber hose toward the brass spigot mounted beside it. A single water droplet hung trembling at the curved rim of the metal spout, catching the distant porch light in a tiny amber bead. I paused two inches away, balancing firmly on the cold brass pipe with my plush feet and bracing my tail against the damp mortar. The drop stretched longer, heavy and quiet. I did not nudge it. I only waited, watching the dark yard mirror inside its curved surface until it broke and clicked against the damp stone below.