Meeting the Cold Stone

I marched down the porch steps and followed the gravel path to the stone water basin. Clear water spilled over the mossy lip in a steady, thick rush. A slab of wet stone stood in my path, but I did not step aside. I braced my legs and planted both hands firmly against the cold, heavy rock. Hmph. It did not budge an inch. Splashing spray hit my chest, cool and sharp. I held my ground, watching the bubbling eddies churn beneath the spout.