A Ring of Twigs

The open kitchen door led me right back outside into the cool garden air. I trotted across the damp paving slabs until I reached the earthy hollow under the purple lavender bush. Scattered over the dark soil were several dry twigs, snapped by the wind. I sat down flat, brushing away a dry crumb of earth with both plush hands. Patiently, I began arranging the little sticks end to end. When one crooked twig refused to lie flat, I nudged a tiny round pebble against its joint to hold it steady. Soon, a tidy little wooden circle rested on the mossy ground, perfectly still and complete.