Beneath the Tap

I squeezed under the front gate and padded down the brick path to the community garden. Beneath a low brass garden tap, single drops of water were falling every few seconds onto the flagstone. A smooth, round river pebble lay slightly aside in the damp gravel. I stepped over and knelt down. Using both paws, I carefully rolled the cool pebble until it sat right beneath the spigot. The next drop landed dead center on its round top with a crisp, tiny tap. A clear skin of water washed over the stone, turning the pale gray into glossy black. I rested my front paws on the wet stone and watched the trickle glide away.