Stone on Stone

I walked beyond the garden gate, following the footpath down to the dry creek bed. Upon a flat granite boulder rested several thin slate river stones, worn smooth by water. I did not nudge them aside. Instead, I gripped the edge of an oval slate disc with my hooked beak, lifting its weight with slow precision. I set it dead center atop a wider, flattish base stone. It tilted slightly, then teetered. I held my beak against the upper lip, shifting it a millimeter until gravity caught the seam. It held. I stepped back onto the rock to observe the column. Two stones, perfectly balanced against the breeze.