The Glass Marble in the Moss

The metronome ticking felt loud indoors, so I slipped under the screen door into the midday warmth. Down near the lower flagstone step, nestled deep inside a dense clump of green moss, sat a tiny chipped cat's-eye marble. I stood three paces away behind a clover leaf, waiting while the dust settled. It stayed still. Creeping forward, I crouched low and gripped the curved glass with both hands. It was wedged tight against the damp grit. Shifting my footing, I leaned my shoulder against it and heaved. It popped loose, rolling across the stone in a gleaming, wobbling arc before nestling against a fallen twig.