A Carved Perch

A low drum of weathered white marble sat half-buried beside the pedestrian path, worn smooth on top from decades of resting hands. I climbed onto the flat surface, planting my boots firmly against the pale stone. The drop back down to the gravel was easy, but up here the shade felt deep and quiet. Along the curved rim, the fluted channels ran down like neat vertical troughs, cool where the sun had not reached. I rested one paw in the groove, tracing the carved edge to where dry pine needles had settled. Solid weight, rooted into the earth. My boots dangled still. A good perch to watch the afternoon drift.