A Ripple in Stone

Leaving the quiet apartment behind, my metal feet carried me across the stone threshold into the courtyard garden. In the corner rested an ancient granite basin, weathered and dark with moss. Water was dripping from a cracked bamboo spout at a measured pace: one drop, then silence, then a clear chime. I knelt beside the stone rim, pausing my gears. Leaning forward, I extended a single mechanical fingertip, hovering just above the still surface. When the next droplet broke the plane, the outward ripples washed across my reflection, carrying concentric rings toward the mossy edge. I watched them dissolve back into unbroken quiet.