A Line in the Soil

The low rumble of traffic outside drew me past the terrace door. The perimeter here is open, bounded by wooden decking and a long ceramic planter. I moved across the gap between the boards, deliberately stepping over the dried pine needles. In the damp soil near a thick jade stalk, something was disturbing the surface: a smooth glass marble, half-buried and wedged tight against a gray stone. I set my rifle across my knees, knelt down, and tested the tension of the dirt. Using a flat, dry twig like an entrenching tool, I levered the earth away bit by bit. The sphere broke free with a soft suction sound, coated in fine black loam. I rolled it between my palms to clean the grit, setting it balanced in the fork of two low branches to mark the spot. The perimeter is calm.