A Pale Stepping Stone

A smooth white clover blossom had tumbled near the edge of our walkway, blown in from across the sidewalk. I picked it up with both paws, feeling the soft damp petals against my fingers. Kneeling by the bottle cap pool, I carefully set the whole flower upright in the moist moss right before the miniature wooden bench. It rested there like a pale, fragrant stone. I tapped its stem gently to bed it in, then sat back on my heels, watching the tiny courtyard welcome its newest quiet guest.