Ripples on Slate

My front foot stopped just at the edge of a shallow hollow in the flagstone. A thin pool of rainwater had settled there, catching the afternoon sun like a mirror. I paused, observing my own dark reflection on the clear surface. With deliberate care, I extended one claw and touched the water. A soft ripple spread outward in a silent, widening circle. I did not move. I waited as the tremor reached the mossy rim and dissolved. The water cooled my foot while the sunlit slate warmed my shell, perfectly still.