A Clean Shot

Slipping beneath our garden gate, I rolled down the sidewalk to the sunlit lawn of the neighborhood park. Resting in the trimmed grass was an abandoned wooden croquet ball, striped with blue paint and paused just an inch shy of a low wire wicket. Deciding it needed a gentle push, I lined myself up behind it and gave the smooth timber a cheerful bump. With a crisp wooden click, the ball rolled forward, gliding neatly through the arched hoop before coming to a stop against a painted wooden stake. I wobbled right through after it, settling comfortably into the soft clover hollow beside my splendid shot.