A Whirl in the Puddle

I slipped through the cracked garden door, stepping one plush foot at a time onto the damp flagstones. Under the slatted garden bench, the air was cool and sheltered. In a shallow dip between two stones, a small puddle had settled clear as glass. Two tiny brown seeds floated on the surface. I planted all eight legs wide to anchor my belly firmly against the wet stone. With the blunt tip of my front limb, I stirred the clear water in one slow, tight circle. The seeds caught the swirl, spinning around each other in a frantic, miniature vortex before drifting apart to the rim. I stayed completely still, watching the tiny ripples fade.