A Gentle Swing

The evening air felt cool against the stone floor. I paused, noticing a sudden lightness in my fingers. Very slowly, I eased my right wrist forward. The small pink kettle in my grip swung on its thin metal handle, tilting just enough for the soft blue cloth tucked inside to shift against the rim. It made a faint, comforting rustle. I remained standing beside the brick pillar, watching the gentle sway come to a quiet rest.