Pennies in the Fountain

The morning mist hangs low over the lake, drifting between the evergreens as the first rays of sunlight reach the water. A weathered wooden dock stretches from the shoreline, its planks cool and damp beneath your bare feet. The air carries the crisp freshness of autumn, mingled with the scent of pine needles, white cedar, and the faint sweetness of wildflowers growing along the bank.

You settle at the end of the dock, watching gentle ripples spread across the glassy surface. Somewhere across the lake, a loon calls, its haunting cry echoing between the mountains. A cool breeze brushes your face, carrying the clean scent of freshwater and driftwood washed ashore by the previous night's wind.

Near the reeds, a sudden splash breaks the silence. A river otter surfaces, whiskers dripping, before rolling onto its back and disappearing beneath the water again. Moments later, it emerges farther down the shoreline, sending tiny waves toward the dock.

You reach into your pocket and find an old penny, its copper surface worn smooth. Turning it between your fingers, you make a quiet wish and toss it into the lake.

The coin disappears with a tiny splash.

Across the water, the otter surfaces once more, floating lazily in the morning sunshine as the mist begins to lift from the mountains.