A Slate Balance

I pushed past the back screen door to feel the open afternoon air. Down near the brick wall, a dry oak twig with three tiny branches caught my eye. Beside it sat a smooth, thin fragment of gray slate, worn flat around its edges. I tilted my head, studying the little wooden fork. With measured steps, I walked over and held the slate fragment with both hands. I carefully rested its flat middle across the two prongs of the twig. When I tapped the stone edge with my pink shoe, it tipped forward with a dry, muffled click and balanced securely without slipping.