Like glass, the water holds still, supportive and strong.
It reflects a distorted version of nature.
Silent it holds its breath until a simple droplet falls from the sky.
Ping.
The surface is broken.
It ripples in perfect concentric circles.
Ping.
Another.
There are hundreds of flecks of water dropping down quickly and bouncing off the water.
Ping. Ping.
Natures drum.
The stone is slowly coated, leaving it to shimmer beneith the open sky.
The wind rising from the dead spurred the smell of dirt and wet stone across the field.
The grass, weighed down from the moisture, danced slugishly.
The wind began to die down and almost simultaneously so did the rain.
The pool is again silent and still.
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