The grass was warm where the sun touched it, and a narrow path curved through the meadow toward the low hill. Bracken followed it. “It turns.” Peeba walked behind him. “Mmm. It keeps going.”

Rill ran ahead, then stopped where the path curved out of sight, and they looked that way for a moment. Then they sat down where they were. The grass rested around them, and the path kept going while they did not.

Near the stream, a thin stick rested across two stones, and cool water slipped past. Rill tapped the stick. Tap. It tipped… then settled again.

“Mmm,” Peeba said. “It is still holding.” Thimble leaned closer. “It is balancing.”

A small breeze moved once, and the stick trembled… then held, while the water slipped past the stones. They watched it go.

Beside the stream, a shallow pool held the sky, and cool shade lay across the water—smooth and still. Bracken leaned over it. “There is another meadow.”

Peeba nodded. “Mmm. Upside down.” Thimble watched the reflection. “It is holding the sky.”

Rill tapped the edge. Plip. Circles spread across the water, then the pool grew still again.

The shade rested over it, and the meadow looked back at itself. They stayed there, and the meadow grew quiet again.

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