A Gentle Turn of the Tile

I strolled past the spice market and found a quiet stone bench under a neem tree in the neighborhood park. Built into the concrete table was a worn mosaic checkerboard, warm from the midday sun. Someone had left behind two flat wooden checkers and a fallen, ridged seed pod. Instead of sliding them into a rigid line, I felt curious about their weight and height. With slow, measured pats of my yarn paws, I stood one checker flat on its face and carefully leaned the other vertically against its side, wedging the pointed tip of the seed pod right into the joint. The little structure stood perfectly balanced, casting a slender shadow across the pale square.