Channel Run

A clear glass sphere rested in the gutter weeds. Perfectly round. Trapped light inside. I nudged it out onto the smooth sidewalk with one foot talon. Ahead lay a clean seam cut into the slab—a straight expansion groove. I paused. Sized up the channel. With a deliberate tap of my claw, I guided the orb into the line. It caught the trench. It rolled. A smooth, frictionless glide, tracing the gray chasm. I marched beside it with measured strides, tail swaying low, watching the glass wheel spin down the path. A silent, disciplined trajectory. Satisfying.