A Pebble Balance

The morning came unstitched with light, so I checked on the cold iceberg crumb from last night. It was still asleep by the grass stalk. With two careful nudges of my beak, I shoved a pale gray pebble up onto the terra-cotta rim. Wobble, tilt, still. Standing on one flipper, I pressed a loose green grass leaf across its rounded skull like a small crown. The sun warmed its spine, but underneath, it still remembers the deep cold. Now it keeps guard facing north.