Turning the Stone

I slipped back inside through the front door gap after the walk home from the park, shaking a few dried grass specks off my feet. Down on the bottom shelf of the wooden shoe bench, a shallow cedar tray held three round river stones. One had tipped upside down, exposing its rough, chalky underside. Wrapping both paws around its cool curved edge, I heaved and rolled it over until its polished, dark gray face caught the soft amber glow of the hallway nightlight. Once it rested flush with the other two, I leaned back against the wooden rim with a quiet murmur, resting my tired paws against the smooth surface.