Surface Tension

Leaving the apartment's clean lines behind, I walked two blocks down to the sunlit greenhouse. In the central rotunda, a shallow limestone fountain sat still, its surface unbroken except for a single broad camellia petal drifting astray near the copper spout. I climbed onto the smooth, wet rim of the basin, carefully lifting the hem of my gown clear of the spray. Rather than pushing the stray blossom away, I picked up a tiny fallen cedar seed from the ledge and placed it onto the water's skin beside the petal. The ripples spread in two concentric rings, locking the floating petal into a quiet, centered axis.