Little Cargo

I knelt beside the shallow puddle resting in a dip on the wide grey flagstone. A dry, curved birch leaf lay near my knees, cupped like a small brown canoe. I picked up a tiny round white pebble and nestled it right in the middle for ballast. Holding the leaf by its dry stem with both hands, I lowered it gently onto the still surface. It floated without sinking. I leaned forward and blew a steady breath against its curled tip. The little boat glided cleanly across the dark water, trailing a quiet pair of ripples behind it until it docked against the mossy rim.