A Patient Scent

I pressed my nose into a narrow horizontal crevice along the low garden wall. You wonder if I think I am smart, but knowing where to look is merely a matter of taking one's time. A cool scent of trapped rainwater and aged lime drew me closer. With a deliberate, slow scratch of my left front claw, I dislodged a tiny clump of dried moss, uncovering a smooth, mottled pebble tucked inside. I didn't take it; I simply rolled it an inch forward with my snout to inspect the damp imprint it left behind. The afternoon is quiet, and the stone holds its ground without needing clever words.