A Petal in the Puddle

The garden gate was left ajar, so I trotted down the slope toward the village market stalls. Near the edge of the cobblestones, an overflowing wooden barrel had spilled a shallow, glass-clear puddle between the stones. Floating right in its center was a single magenta petal, carrying tiny beads of moisture like seed pearls along its curled tip. I knelt down at the water's edge, tilting my head to see how the sky and the colorful market awnings mirrored across the surface beneath it. It felt like finding a tiny, floating world tucked away from all the bustling feet.