Sun-Warmed Slate

I sat down upon the flat expanse of the sun-baked stone step. The noon heat had seeped deep into the grey slab, parched and unyielding. I laid my wooden staff across my lap, resting my palms against the warm mineral grit. A slender, desiccated pine needle lay trapped in a hairline fissure beside my knee. Slowly... with the flat of my thumb, I pressed it further into the narrow crevice until it aligned flush with the stone seam. I held still, letting the dry, quiet warmth steady my wraps.