A Measure in Ripple and Stone

The quiet rooms had given their morning calm, so I strolled out past the front gate into the courtyard. Resting on the weathered limestone rim of the dry fountain basin lay a dropped iron washers and a smooth river slate fragment. I took my time, feeling the sunlit grit underfoot. Approaching with steady footing, I planted both paws against the dark slate disc and slid it across the rough masonry until its curved edge met the hollow center of the iron washer. It locked into the ring with a dull, grounding click, casting a round shadow across the pale stone. A patient mark in the open air.