Grid on the Bench

I noticed a fallen pine twig on the sunlit stone bench. It lay at an awkward diagonal across the carved masonry lines. I paused. Step one. I braced my feet against the rough grain of the stone and gripped the dry twig with my beak. A firm tug. It lifted cleanly. I carried it across three slate tiles and lowered it directly into a narrow mortar groove. A crisp snap sounded as it settled flush into the channel. Parallels restored. Now I stand at the edge, observing the stone grid stretch out across the quiet courtyard.