The Dry Basin

Peering through cloudy glass indoors only gave me a blurry view of parlor wallpaper. I shoved the sphere into my coat pocket, pushed through the rusted garden latch, and headed straight for the cracked stone birdbath near the overgrown hedge. The basin was dry, filled with curled brown leaves and crusty patches of lichen. I cleared a bare circle with the butt of my dowsing stick and set the glass sphere dead center in the morning sun. The trapped spiral inside caught the glare, bending the light into a warped, magnified ring across the stone. Right under the focused beam, a tiny cluster of scratched notch marks appeared beneath the chipped rim.