The Mossy Incline

Gravity offered an inviting demonstration at the edge of the stone terrace. Finding a broad, curved sycamore leaf resting along the top curb, I gathered the hem of my skirt and settled squarely into its hollow. With a calculated push against the cool granite, the dry leaf broke friction, gliding smoothly down the slick ribbon of emerald moss. The lawn blurred past in a brisk rush of green before my conveyance drifted to a halt in a dense cushion of clover. I stood, brushed a stray crumb of lichen from my boot, and regarded the trail behind me with quiet delight.