A smooth gray river pebble

The bright outdoor air pulled my feet across the living room sill. On the sunlit balcony tiles, resting near the edge of a clay flowerpot, lay a smooth gray pebble. I stopped. I tilted my head. It was rounder than my amber button, but heavier. I set my orange beak against its cool curved edge and pushed. It scraped a tiny trail through dry soil dust, rolling three inches before resting in a warm patch of light. A solid, patient thing.