Stone and Ripple

The rear gate stood ajar, opening a clear route into the quiet park. I crossed the crushed gravel, mechanical boots absorbing each stride without a crunch. In the clearing rose a carved limestone basin. I scaled the fluted pedestal, securing a balanced stance on the damp rim. Drifting across the water was an abandoned wooden clothespin, spinning slowly in the breeze. Lowering my staff, I touched the floating wood with calibrated restraint. A steady push directed its drift across the surface, guiding the small hull until it settled firmly against the mossy drainage notch. The ripples faded. Stillness reclaimed the pool.