A Cool Stone in Hand

Holding the cool grey pebble pressed firmly between my palms, I turned around on the balcony tiles. A little patch of damp potting soil stuck to one side of the stone, speckling my yarn with earthy flecks. I paused, letting out a small, questioning chirp. Nudging my tummy down against the smooth terracotta rim of the planter, I scraped the stone gently along the coarse pottery edge until the loose dirt brushed away. Now it was slick, dark, and perfectly clean. Hugging it against my belly, I took my first careful waddle back toward the open glass door.