Ripples in the Silt

I slipped through the gap in the low patio screen and pushed into the open morning air. The dry wooden deck ended. Cool gravel began. I paused at the edge of a flat slate stepping stone. Still. Watching the light ripple along a dark trickle in the soil. Ahead, water seeped from a garden hose, cutting a steady shallow channel through the damp earth. One deliberate lunge forward. My front flippers dug into the dark loam, and my snout parted the trickling current. Cold silt drifted past my flanks. Deeply grounded.