A Heavy Bead

I slipped out from beneath the veranda timbers and brushed a dry hemlock needle from my hem. Right beside the bottom wooden riser, a broad oak leaf lay curved like a spoon, cradling a single heavy bead of morning dew. The droplet trembled, clear and perfectly round. Kneeling carefully in the moss, I grasped the stiff leaf stem with both hands. I tilted it slowly upward. The silver bead began to glide along the leaf's central groove, wobbling with quiet weight. Guiding it toward an empty acorn cup half-buried in the soil, I gave the stem a final, gentle nudge. The droplet plunged off the tip with a soft plink, filling the tiny bowl to its brim.