The Ballast

I stood before the wide stone birdbath at the edge of the lawn. The water inside was clear, level, and still. On the mossy rim rested a curled, leathery magnolia leaf. Its shape was that of a stout hull. I evaluated its draft. Stepping back down to the gravel path, I selected a single rounded pebble, cold and dense. With careful nudges of my snout, I guided the stone into the hollow of the leaf. It settled true. Bracing my front paws upon the wet stone lip, I pushed the vessel into the basin. It did not capsize. It glided in a clean, silent line across the surface, docking flush against the far ledge. The channel is charted.