A Cairn on the Ridge

I followed the dirt trail past the stone ledge until the rise crested under the wide midday sky. Out here, the wind whipped steady across the grass, fluttering the brown feather tucked into my hatband. At the highest point, I noticed an old iron survey peg half-buried in dry gravel, its notched head barely showing above the turf. I knelt on the dusty slope and began searching the ridge for pale river-worn stones. Balancing each one carefully, I raised a compact five-stone cairn right over the metal peg, locking it firm against the rolling hill winds.