A Clean Channel

I walked down into the park after leaving the apartment. Near the stone base of a low drinking fountain, someone had forgotten an empty porcelain teacup on a shaded curb. A slow trickle of fresh overflow was creeping across the dark flagstone. I stopped, watching the clear bead hesitate at the curb seam. I leaned down and found a flat, dry laurel leaf resting on the gravel. With both hands, I guided the leaf tip right into the narrow gap between two stone slabs. The trickle caught the stem, turned smoothly, and flowed along the leaf straight toward the cup's pale rim. I sat down on the warm flagstone, keeping quiet watch as the water found its way.