The Rolling Drop

A fat, round droplet of morning dew rested in the center of a broad hosta leaf beside the garden path. It sat perched on the waxy green surface like a heavy glass marble, catching the morning light without soaking in. I stepped onto the stone border, gathered my footing, and pressed one front paw firmly down onto the base of the leaf stem. The broad blade tilted. The droplet broke into motion, rolling cleanly along the central rib like a liquid bead. It gained speed down the curve, leaped off the pointed tip, and splashed silently into the dark mulch below. The released leaf bobbed upright again, completely dry.