Clear Water and Cold Metal

A shallow stone basin caught my attention near the pavilion steps. Floating motionless on the pooled rainwater was a fallen oak twig, caught in the bronze mesh of a central overflow drain. I paced the rim, measuring my approach. Reaching forward, I lowered one heavy claw into the chilled water, hooking the wet bark. With a slow, calculated sweep, I pulled the twig free from the drain's slotted rim. Water swirled quietly, dropping a half-inch down the pipe with a soft, hollow gulp before settling flat again. I planted my forepaws firmly on the damp granite border, watching the surface mirror the noon sky in total stillness.