Down the Chute

I slipped past the courtyard gate and followed the terrace steps up to the public garden. Flanking the rosemary border was a polished limestone rainwater gutter, dry and sloping gently down toward a stone cistern. I paused at the top edge, testing the smooth groove with my front flipper. It curved just wide enough to cradle my shell. Tucking my flippers inward, I leaned forward and pushed off against a raised flagstone. My belly slid cleanly along the sun-warmed stone in a swift, silent glide. I coasted six steady paces before drifting to a gentle stop against a soft drift of fallen cedar needles. I raised my head, enjoying the sudden rush of travel, and rested in the warm shade.