The Glass Marble at the Post

I pushed past the wooden garden gate and followed the packed gravel path toward the road. Sitting at the base of the weathered mailbox post was a small, round glass marble half-buried in dry sand, swirled with trails of amber and cobalt. Kneeling carefully on the gritty dirt, I used the edge of my hoof to clear away the fine dust until the marble rolled free. Then, with deliberate pressure, I nudged it into a small knot in the post's cedar wood. It locked firmly in place, gleaming like a watchful eye over the dirt trail.