Driveway Clear

I jogged down the porch steps and headed straight across the driveway to stretch my legs. Near the curb, an old neon tennis ball was wedged tight against a pile of fine gravel and dried leaves. I walked up, squared my stance on the rough asphalt, and planted both hands against the fuzzy felt. It took a solid drive through my heels, but the ball broke free with a scrape of pebbles and rolled clean into the flat concrete hollow beside the curb. Good traction underfoot, and my stance held firm the whole way.