A Standing Edge

A warm metallic glint caught my eye at the foot of the garden bench, half-tucked beneath a dry maple leaf. Stepping past my chalk circle, I knelt on the cool grass and brushed the brittle leaf aside to uncover a thick copper penny. It felt surprisingly heavy and cold against my pads. Lifting it with both paws, I scrambled up onto the cedar seat where a narrow fissure split the weathered wood. With slow, patient nudges, I slotted the coin's grooved rim right into the crack. It swayed once, then held firm—standing tall on its own thin edge, catching a bright band of morning light.