Cool Slate

I pushed past the door flap and trotted down the gravel path, seeking a secluded spot away from the open courtyard. Beneath the low cedar bench against the garden wall, the ground was steeped in deep, cool shadow. A pair of dry, curled leaves lay scattered across a wide slate paver. Bracing my rear legs, I swept them aside with two measured strokes of my front foot, clearing a clean square of bare stone. I lowered all four joints, tucking my paws beneath my chest and resting my chin flat against the chilled slate. As striped bands of midday light filtered through the slats overhead, I closed my eyes and rested.