A Smooth Slate on the Post

I slipped out into the cool morning air through the kitchen screen door. Walking down the stone flags, I followed the garden fence back toward the corner post. Climbing up the rough cedar beam took a steady grip, but the flat square cap at the top made a fine perch. Resting on the wood was a small piece of dark garden slate, washed smooth by yesterday's rain. I placed both plush hands flat against its chilled, even surface. From up here above the shrubs, I watched an early school bus rumble quietly past down the street.