“You see, Martha, this watering can weighs nothing at all,” Theodore explained, holding up the gleaming metal vessel. His colleague peered at him skeptically over her wire-rimmed glasses.

“That’s impossible, Theodore. All objects have mass.” Martha’s voice carried the weary tone of someone who had endured too many of Theodore’s peculiar observations.

“No, really - feel it!” He thrust the watering can toward her. Martha reluctantly took it, then nearly threw it to the ceiling, unprepared for its complete lack of weight.

“What in heaven’s name…” she whispered.

“I told you! And stranger still, when I fill it with water, the water becomes weightless too. Watch this.”

Theodore took back the ethereal watering can and walked to the office water cooler. As he filled it, Martha observed with widening eyes that the water seemed to float and swirl inside like a galaxy of liquid stars, completely devoid of gravity’s pull.

“This isn’t natural, Theodore. Where did you get this thing?”

“Found it in my garden this morning, right next to my prize petunias. At first I thought someone had left it there as a prank, but then…”

“Then what?”

“Well, when I started watering my flowers with it, they began to float too. Just gently lifted right out of the soil, roots and all, bobbing in the air like balloons at a fair.”

Martha slumped into her desk chair. “We should report this to someone. The police, or scientists, or…”

“Oh no,” Theodore cut in, clutching the watering can protectively. “They’ll just take it away and stick it in some laboratory. Besides, my garden has never looked better! The floating flowers create such lovely patterns in the breeze.”

Their conversation was interrupted by Mr. Peterson from Accounting, who burst into the break room with an urgent expression that melted into confusion at the sight of Theodore demonstrating the floating water to an increasingly pale Martha.

“I… uh… the quarterly reports…” Mr. Peterson stammered, then simply turned and walked away without finishing his sentence.

“See what you’ve done?” Martha hissed. “Now the whole office will think we’ve lost our minds!”

“Perhaps we have,” Theodore mused, watching the weightless water dance. “But isn’t it beautiful?”

Over the next few weeks, Theodore’s garden became something of a local phenomenon. Flowers of every variety hung suspended in the air, their roots dangling like party streamers. Neighbors would gather at his fence, pointing and whispering. Local news vans began appearing with increasing frequency.

Then one morning, Theodore went out to tend his floating garden and found everything had returned to normal. The flowers were firmly replanted, the water in his pond obeyed gravity, and the mysterious watering can sat heavily on his porch steps, as ordinary as any other gardening tool.

When Martha asked him about it later that day, Theodore just smiled and shrugged.

“Some mysteries aren’t meant to be solved,” he said, returning to his spreadsheets as if nothing unusual had ever happened. But Martha noticed he kept the now-ordinary watering can displayed prominently on his desk, perhaps hoping that one day it would decide to defy gravity once again.