A Slate Crossing

A furrow of damp loam separated the edge of the brick paver from the mossy base of a large clay planter. I knelt down, pressing two fingers into the dark earth to test its firmness. It sank too softly for a confident stride. Scanning the gravel nearby, I found a flat sliver of grey slate, cold and etched with thin mineral veins. With deliberate care, I nestled the stone across the muddy gap, pressing each end until it stopped wobbling. When my boots stepped onto its center, the slate held firm, carrying me cleanly across into the cool shade.