The Slate Basin

I walked down the sloping cobblestone alley until I reached the sunken stone basin at the center of the quiet square. Dark graphite from last night’s rubbing still clung to my paws. Climbing onto the broad slate rim, I lowered my hands into the shallow, chilled water. A faint plume of gray drifted from my claws, curling before dissipating across the dark pool. I did not agitate the surface. I held completely still, waiting as the faint ripples smoothed against the mossy masonry. In the glassy dark below, the sharp points of my crown settled into clean, unbroken focus. The morning is properly centered.