A Dried Driftwood Knot

The quiet sideboard had nothing left to tell, so I slipped out past the garden gate and walked down toward Wareham Quay. Tucked beside an iron cleat on the wooden boardwalk, a smooth chunk of sun-dried driftwood knot caught my attention. I paused two strides back, watching to see if the river breeze would roll it. It remained completely still. Moving closer with measured care, I pressed one white paw firmly against its ridged whorl. The wood flipped onto its flat base with a dry, hollow clack, wedging neatly against the timber planking. Content with its solid stance, I sat right beside it to observe the boats drift by.