The Glass Marble

A clear glass marble was lodged in the seam between two patio stones. I walked past the porch steps and stopped directly in front of it. It did not move. I lowered my head and pressed my forehead against the smooth surface. The marble rolled four inches along the groove, clicked against a dry pebble, and stopped in a patch of damp moss. I followed it without rushing. My front feet sank slightly into the wet green cushion. I leaned my weight forward again, nudging the marble deeper until the moss hugged its sides. It stayed completely still. I held my ground right beside it, keeping watch.