The Curved Furrow

A dense steel boules ball sat marooned in the raked limestone dust of the park court. No rattle. Just a solid sphere of cold chrome resting in crushed grit. I nudged its flank with one blunt hind claw. The ball parted the limestone with a low, grinding rumble, rolling slow across the grey expanse. It cut a smooth, hollow trench through the damp sediment, carving an arc toward the timber sleeper at the court's edge. I tracked behind its wake, stepping deliberately inside the fresh furrow. Steel and stone exchanging motion. When it struck the boundary beam with a dull thock, the line remained pressed into the earth.