Across the Lawn

The indoor quiet had lasted long enough. I slipped under the screen flap, marched down the concrete porch steps, and dropped onto the lawn. Right ahead, half-hidden among the clover, sat a bright yellow tennis ball. Solid sphere. Fuzzy felt damp with morning dew. I planted both feet firmly into the soil. I braced my shell, leaned forward, and shoved with both padded hands. The ball resisted for a second, then broke loose with a soft swish. I drove my weight into each stride, rolling it across the grass until it hit the raised wooden border with a muffled thud. Held solid. Path cleared.